Shook the Bones
by Scifiroots
Summary: An AU series of tales where Reid joins the team in a very different way. Future Hotch/Reid *6: When Morgan's past comes knocking, the case's aftermath affects Reid and Hotch as well.
1. Points of Authority

Point of Authority

By Clarity Scifiroots

**Fandom**: Criminal Minds (Disclaimers apply! This is a fan's work.)

**Characters**: Hotch, Reid, Gideon, Prentiss, Morgan, Elle, JJ, Garcia

**Genre**: AU, pre-slash (Hotch/Reid)

**Rating**: Teen

**Warnings**: Allusions to physical and sexual abuse

**Spoilers**: The Fisher King episodes & aftermath

**Summary**: In an alternate reality, the BAU team is called to Las Vegas to determine if the right man was convicted in a series of murders. _(Yeah, this is probably the beginning of a series…)_

--- --- ---

"Las Vegas, Nevada," JJ announced as the final member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit team took a seat at the conference table. She pressed the remote to bring up pictures of three dead women on the screen. There was no blood in the top two photos; one of the women looked as if she'd died in her sleep. The bottom picture showed a woman covered in bruises and blood.

"Why did the police connect these three crimes?" Emily Prentiss asked, frowning. "The third woman died under very different circumstances."

JJ moved forward, the next screen presenting three cameo photos. Each woman sat with one or two other people – probably family members – but their expressions were distant and paid no attention to the camera. "All three women were being treated for schizophrenia. They're within the same age range of forty to forty-five, and they knew each other."

Unit chief Aaron Hotchner looked up from his copy of the file. "JJ, it says the locals already convicted someone for the murders four months ago."

"There's been a fourth," she answered, flipping to another page – family photo on the left and the crime scene on the right. There was blood on an overturned end table and underneath the woman's head. "She didn't know the other women, as far as local police can tell, but she fits the other victimology aspects. Local law enforcement is basically divided into two different camps. One side believes they convicted the right man and this is a copycat killing, the other side wants assurance that they didn't get the wrong guy."

"Does anyone think this, uh…" Derek Morgan flipped through the file to get the name, "Spencer Reid is innocent?"

"I don't know."

Hotch nodded to his team as he stood. "Meet at the jet in one hour."

Elle Greenaway lingered behind with JJ, an unreadable expression on her face. In the doorway Jason Gideon stopped to watch.

"Do you have more information on Reid?" Elle asked, her folder opened to the booking photo of a weary-looking young man with chin-length hair and bright eyes.

"I've provided everything they sent," JJ said, tilting her head in silent question.

Elle pursed her lips, shaking her head slowly as she stared down at the folder. "He wouldn't last."

"What?" JJ's gaze flickered to Gideon. Elle had been having some dramatic mood swings in the months since being shot in her own home by an unsub.

"Look at him!" Elle laughed bitterly. "You think anyone would leave a kid like him alone in prison? Jesus, if he wasn't so damn tired he'd look like jailbait."

Gideon stepped in with the quiet comment, "You don't know if he's innocent."

Elle shut her folder and turned to face him. Her eyes hard, she said, "And what if he is?" She left the room before either could answer.

---

Hotch assigned Elle to the newest crime scene, ignoring her angry glare when he announced he'd take Prentiss to interview Reid. He was relieved that Prentiss didn't comment about Elle's behavior on their way to the prison. Instead she focused on the expanded file they'd received on Spencer Reid.

"He's a genius, Hotch. Literally. Three PhDs, two completed BAs, and prior to his conviction he was working on a third undergraduate degree. Graduated high school at age twelve. It was just him and his mother after the father left when he was ten." She frowned as she skimmed some portions of the initial police interview. "Do you really think he'd kill his mother? It seems… unusual that she was the only one who showed significant signs of self defense. It doesn't fit with the idea of a mercy killing."

"I doubt any of these women wanted to die; and if Diana Reid was in one of her paranoid episodes, it would be much harder to subdue her."

Prentiss didn't say anything else until the security gate came in sight.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"I need you to remain objective," Hotch cautioned. "We don't have enough information yet to decide one way or the other." Prentiss nodded.

A guard had taken the precaution to lock Reid's handcuffs to the table before the FBI arrived. Hotch entered the room with Prentiss a step behind. Although Reid sat up straight and had his hands folded in front of him, he didn't lift his head when the door opened.

Hotch assessed the young man as he moved to his seat. Reid's hair was now short and haphazardly cut, tufts of hair sticking up at odd angles. The knuckles of his right hand were scraped. A large, yellowing bruise in the shape of fingers framed his elbow. A fresh, pink scar disappeared beneath his shirt collar. Hotch had a suspicion as to why the young man kept his head down.

Prentiss took over introductions. "Dr. Reid," she began respectfully, "I'm Special Agent Emily Prentiss from the FBI. This is Special Agent Hotchner."

Reid twitched at the word FBI. It took him a moment to answer. "There's another murder." He glanced up, lifting his face just a little. A dark bruise ringed one eye and the lids could barely open. He flashed a humorless smirk when he saw Hotch frown.

"What makes you say that?" Prentiss asked.

"It's the logical conclusion to draw. If there's been another murder, it casts doubt onto the guilty verdict and the locals know they'll need outside help to determine whether or not this is a copycat."

"Are you suggesting it is a copycat?" Hotch asked.

Reid's expression tightened. "I maintain my innocence. I am _not_ guilty."

"Apparently a jury found compelling evidence to say otherwise."

"Why would I kill my mother, her friend, and a woman who was trying to help them both?" Reid's chin lifted, revealing a split lip and yellow-green bruises along his lower jaw – more fingerprints. For a moment Hotch ignored the young man's words as a jolt of cold shot along his spine.

Prentiss calmly said, "There is a theory that these were mercy killings."

Reid grimaced. "My mother was _ill_, not miserable," he said in a tight voice. "You have the reports. You know she fought."

"You said one of the women was trying to help?" Hotch prompted.

"Ms. Grenwitch. Her schizophrenia responded well to medication and other therapy. She functioned on her own much better than my mother did. Ms. Grenwitch did a couple of support groups, usually for families to help them—us understand."

"It must have been difficult to care for her," Prentiss said.

Reid stared at her. "I loved my mom. Yeah, it was difficult, but I had studied care options for years. I was prepared to make the best possible arrangements for her if I couldn't care for her by myself anymore."

"So you didn't see her has a burden? What about the other families?"

"You'll have to ask them." Reid's expression went blank and Hotch knew the conversation was over.

"We will." Hotch stood and Prentiss followed his lead. "If you think of anything that could help us close this case, we can speak again later." Reid said nothing, eyes fixed on his hands.

Prentiss had opened the door when Reid asked, "What unit?"

"What?"

"Which unit of the FBI?"

Hotch studied Reid as he answered, "BAU. Beha—"

"Behavioral Analysis Unit." A twisted smile, more like a grimace, crossed the man's face. "Ironic," he muttered, ducking his head. Hotch shot Prentiss a look and she shook her head slightly; neither of them thought Reid would elaborate right now.

As soon as they'd cleared the building, Prentiss pulled her cell phone out and dialed for Garcia. She pressed the button for speaker just as the last ring sounded.

"You have reached the temple of the All-Knowing Goddess," came the perky greeting.

"I need you to run the name Spencer Reid in connection to anything related to the FBI," Hotch said without preamble.

"Yessir!" Seconds later she gave a startled noise of surprise as one of her computers beeped. "This is weird, sir. Doctor Spencer Reid of Las Vegas, Nevada?"

"Yes," Prentiss frowned at her phone. "What's weird?"

"He filled out an application to join the BAU."

Hotch tapped Reid's folder against his thigh, running the interview over in his mind.

Prentiss said, "Garcia, can you dig up some more information about Dr. Reid's interest in the FBI? And his relationship with his mother."

"You betcha!"

Prentiss snapped her phone shut and looked over at Hotch. "You know that bad feeling I had? It just got worse."

Hotch didn't say anything, pushing aside his own unease as they got into the car.

---

The BAU team appropriated a small conference room set apart from the squad room at the police station. The two lead detectives from the previous homicides and their supervisor joined them as they analyzed the available evidence.

Four hours later, Gideon turned to the locals with a grim expression. "Gentlemen, I believe there's still a killer on the loose."

Chief Brandon Crawford's lips thinned.

"Fuck me," hissed Jack Lind. "No. We did everything right. We did our jobs and a jury approved!" He jabbed his finger at the team. "You were not here last year. You didn't do the legwork. It was a good conviction!"

"We'll need to talk to the families of the other victims," Gideon announced calmly. "Detective Lind, would you prefer to let an innocent man sit in jail instead of pursuing an alternative avenue?"

"You don't know for sure, yet," Lind's partner muttered, but his expression gave away his unease.

"I trust we'll find the evidence leading to a different perpetrator."

Elle and Morgan were partnered to talk to the daughter and son-in-law of Linda Wells, the first victim. Hotch took Prentiss to see Lynette Grenwitch's family. Gideon recruited JJ for a different aspect of the case.

"Sir?" JJ questioned as Gideon set a stack of print-outs in front of her. He held the police's file on Reid under one arm.

"This case is more than finding our unsub. I need you on Spencer Reid. Those are from Garcia. Connect with her. I'll be out to see the latest family, but I want to be kept up-to-date."

"Any suggestions on what I should be looking for?" she asked, flipping through the top pages of Garcia's fax. "I mean, won't it be the capture of the unsub that will clear this guy's name?"

Gideon offered her a familiar mysterious smile. As he walked out the door he murmured, "I want to know this kid."

---

Hotch wasn't sure how he ended up not going out to find Robert Hatch – the man almost certainly their unsub – and instead checked his weapons once again at the prison. Outside the interview room he found a middle-aged woman in a pantsuit eyeing him warily. She had a briefcase in one hand.

"Special Agent Aaron Hotchner," she greeted coolly.

He nodded. "Dr. Reid's lawyer, I presume?"

"Indeed."

Curious, Hotch cast his gaze to the clear barrier to eye the young man hunched over the table inside. At least this time he hadn't been chained in place. Hotch's attention turned back to the lawyer. "You've heard that my team believes your client has been falsely incarcerated?"

She smiled cynically. "And it only took nine months for any real effort to seek out an alternative theory. I should be preparing files to sue."

"That's up to you and your client, ma'am."

She snorted softly and glanced back at her client. "He doesn't care for my presence right now. I already informed the guard I'll be in there in a flash if it looks like anything untoward happens. Any and all information that can clear my client will be made available to me, understand?"

Hotch admired her dedication. He offered his hand to her as he said, "Of course. I believe you should have received some of our results already."

She shook his hand with a firm grip. With a tight nod, she gestured for him to enter. Hotch hid a smile at her act of gatekeeper.

"Dr. Reid," he greeted on his way to the table. "You've been informed that we've found evidence of your innocence?" The young man didn't look up and in fact hunched over a little further when Hotch sat down. Prentiss's bad feeling was catching, Hotch decided as a knot of dread formed in his gut. "Dr. Reid," he said quietly. "Are you all right?"

A gusty sound that might have been a chuckle came from Reid. "One-hundred twenty-three days."

"Excuse me?"

"The days I've been here, Agent Hotchner."

Reid's voice sounded hoarse. Hotch turned his head to look for bruises on Reid's neck and found them all too quickly. "Does this happen often?"

"What?" Reid's head lifted enough for him to glance at Hotch in confusion. When he found Hotch staring back, he ducked his head again.

"You have new bruises," Hotch stated.

Reid didn't speak for some time. Hotch sent a glare at the guard in the corner. The man there stared back, lips tight. Hotch frowned at him but admitted he felt relieved that the guard expressed disapproval.

"You already know," Reid finally said. He slid a hand over his tufted hair, fingers smoothing back a longer section behind his ear. As he moved, Hotch realized he could see teeth marks at the base of his neck. "You're the profiler, tell me what happened in here. You don't have to guess."

Hotch closed his eyes and took a moment to keep his breathing even. Reid was right, he could vividly imagine just what the young man would have faced.

"You will get out," Hotch asserted. He stared at Reid, half hoping he'd look up yet dreading what other damage he might find.

"Then at least I won't die here," Reid said, lifting his face. A wry smile crossed his lips. His black eye was a sickening shade of green-purple after two days, the finger-shaped bruises along his jaw were fading, but his split lip clearly wasn't getting the chance to heal over.

Hotch had the surprising urge to say sorry. He didn't know why, obviously an apology would do nothing and he himself had nothing to apologize for. In fact he was aiding the young man in finding justice for his mother and prove his innocence.

When Hotch refocused, he realized Reid was studiously observing him. He couldn't resist asking, "What do you see?"

Reid looked startled by the question. After a moment amusement flickered in his gaze. "You found out I applied for the BAU?" Hotch nodded, leaving his expression open in invitation for Reid to answer.

"I see a man in his mid-thirties, presenting confidence despite inner doubts. You used to be married but it's been some months since the divorce." Hotch resisted the urge to glance down at his hand, rather surprised that Reid had noticed the slight color difference where he used to wear his wedding band. "You probably lost her because you're focused on your job. You're stressed by the work but still dedicated to the cause. I doubt you care about promotion, which means you're probably attached to your team in more than a professional capacity." Reid stopped, gaze roaming over the FBI agent. Hotch managed not to twitch despite how he felt that Reid seemed to see beneath his skin.

Eventually Reid observed, "You wanted to test me." He tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement. "Your posture tells me I was right and you're uncomfortable being profiled." He gave a small smile, finally something genuine. "I'm sure there's some agreement about not profiling coworkers, so you don't get this a lot."

Hotch said, "It seems you'd cleared a significant portion of the approval process for your application."

Reid looked away, mouth tight.

"It didn't make it to my desk."

"Something came up," Reid responded dryly.

"I would have hired you."

Reid glanced sharply at him, his eyes narrowed in anger. The anger faded, replaced with regret that was quickly covered with a deceptively blank expression. Hotch hid a sigh.

"Dr. Reid, we've handed your lawyer enough evidence to start your release process." His gaze traced the numerous marks on pale skin. "And I promise you that you'll be moved immediately to a smaller facility."

"_Whoever destroys a single life is as guilty as though he had destroyed the entire world; and whoever rescues a single life earns as much merit as though he had rescued the entire world._" Reid responded to Hotch's silent question, "The Talmud. It's a Judaic text of rabbinic discussions." He paused, seeming to consider whether he should continue.

"You have no reason to be guilty, Agent Hotchner." Reid glanced down and his fingers strayed again to his hair to brush it behind his ear.

Hotch realized that the gesture was useless and more likely an indication of nervousness. Having no idea what else he could say, Hotch looked at his watch and decided it was time to return to the station. He stood and offered his hand to the young man. "I have a case to close, Dr. Reid."

Reid stared at his hand skeptically for a moment before accepting. His fingers were boney and his grip not quite as firm as his lawyer's.

"Will you come to talk with me when you catch the guy?"

Somehow the request startled Hotch. "I'll be sure you're informed."

Reid's grip tightened for a moment. He clarified, "No. Will _you_ tell me?"

Hotch wasn't sure why it was important for Reid to see him again. "We'll see."

The young man retracted his hand and looked away, his expression closing off. Hotch opened his mouth, tempted to promise that yes, he would come back to see Reid, but the possibility that he might break that promise worried him.

---

Hotch stepped out of the car with his sunglasses on. He looked around the tarmac, watching the heat waves blurring his vision in Las Vegas' desert heat. He'd kept busy with paperwork during the past twenty-four hours and checking in on Reid's situation. He hadn't gone to see the young man, though Prentiss did.

Gideon clapped a hand on Hotch's shoulder and gave him a small shove towards the jet. "I noticed you didn't go back," he commented.

Shrugging, Hotch said, "I had other things that needed to be done."

The noncommittal hum from Gideon made it clear the older man had another theory. Hotch decided not to pursue that.

Morgan started a game of cards, recruiting the women to play. Gideon played a game of chess against himself. Hotch tried to read and instead ended up closing his eyes and dozed off. He dreamed in his half-asleep state, images of Spencer Reid sitting across the interview table in his mind. He recalled the images of Reid as he had been – long hair, a quirky smile, wearing a shirt and vest.

---

Garcia walked quickly down the hall, her bright pink heels click-clicking in a staccato beat. She was grinning.

"Hey baby girl, you're looking smug!"

Garcia blew a kiss at Morgan. "Later, Angel," she promised, making her way up to Hotch's office. She was disappointed to find him absent. She looked in next door and found Gideon. He lifted an eyebrow in silent question.

"Where's our fearless leader?" she asked.

"Good news?"

She grinned. "Hoo yeah. It's about Elle's replacement!"

Gideon's lips twitched up in his mysterious smile. Garcia pursued her lips as she considered his expression. After a moment she rolled her eyes. "You already know!" she complained. "I bet you even helped push it."

"I know you had something to do with it," Gideon replied, returning his attention to the file on his desk.

Determining that was a dismissal, Garcia turned on her heel. Before she could take more than two steps, Gideon told her, "Don't tell Hotch!"

Well that was interesting.

---

Hotch washed his face in the men's bathroom. With a grimace at his reflection, he started to shave. After he'd finished his morning routine (except in an office restroom rather than home), he returned to his office to change clothes, apply fresh deodorant, and grab his wallet. He went out to find a large cup of quality coffee, knowing he'd need it to get through the day.

JJ had hinted at a couple case possibilities yesterday afternoon and Hotch had only finished the latest reports at two a.m.. Sometime this week Elle's replacement would arrive. Although he and the team missed her, Hotch was relieved she'd voluntarily stepped away. He hoped she'd keep her future appointments with a Bureau psychologist to help her resolve the issues haunting her from the Fisher King case.

Armed with a cup of coffee, Hotch returned to the office just as Prentiss took off her jacket. She smiled at him and shook her head when she saw the coffee. His team knew when he'd spent the night. The rest of the team arrived in the next thirty minutes and Hotch could hear snippets of a lively conversation coming from the bullpen.

Hotch returned from lunch to find he had company. A thin, long-haired man stood at his office window, staring outside. It took a few moments for Hotch to recognize the face, now free of bruises and cuts. He cleared his throat and Spencer Reid turned to him with a small smile.

"Sir," Reid said.

"Dr. Reid, this is a surprise." Hotch walked to his desk, relieved that he felt less unbalanced when he sank into his chair. "Have a seat. What can I do for you?"

Reid's brow furrowed and he nervously tucked his hair behind his ear. "Um, sir?" His gaze darted to the door and the interior window overlooking the bullpen. Hesitantly he sat in one of the chairs across from Hotch. "I believe I'm assigned to your team…?"

Hotch didn't bother to hide his surprise. "Oh." He stared at the young man dumbly for a few seconds before he realized he should have a note on his computer. He searched for information on his new agent, confused as to why he couldn't find the data right away. He eventually found it and realized Garcia likely had something to do with its misplacement, although he didn't know why she'd do so.

He took a moment to read the notice and then turned back to Reid with a smile. "I apologize for the confusion. Welcome to the team." He held out his hand. This time Reid's handshake was firm and his fingers didn't feel so skeletal. Unsurprisingly, the young man looked significantly healthier overall.

"Thank you."

Morgan's laughter from below signified the team's arrival. Hotch stood and gestured to the door. "Let me introduce you to the rest of the team and show you to your desk."

Gideon waited outside, greeting Hotch with a small grin as their eyes met.

"Dr. Reid, it's a pleasure to meet you," Gideon said. He introduced himself and invited the younger man for a game of chess sometime in the near future. Hotch noticed the surprise on Reid's face at the offer.

As they went down the ramp, Hotch saw Morgan's head turn in their direction. Garcia conspicuously peeked around the corner and looked like she was barely containing an excited squeal when she spotted Reid.

"I'd like to introduce the newest member of our team, Dr. Spencer Reid." Hotch touched Reid's shoulder, a casual gesture he often used. Reid flinched away, not overtly, but it was enough motion for Hotch – and probably the others – to take notice.

"We met before," Prentiss said. "But I'd certainly say this is a much better way to meet. Emily Prentiss." She smiled widely, genuinely happy to see him.

"Derek Morgan. Welcome to the team, kid."

Garcia appeared with JJ by her side. "Dr. Reid, it's a pleasure! I'm Penelope Garcia." She eagerly took Reid's hand in both of hers for the handshake. Reid looked disconcerted.

"Hello," JJ said, far more calm. She smiled at Hotch approvingly. "Jennifer Jareau. Everyone calls me JJ."

"Thanks." Once he was free of the handshakes, Reid took a step back and glanced over the interested faces focused on him. "Um, it's nice to meet all of you…"

JJ lifted a folder to catch Hotch's attention.

"I hope you're ready to jump right in," Hotch said. "Conference room, fifteen minutes." The others nodded. JJ and Garcia went to set up for the meeting. "Reid, your desk is here. There's a locker room where most of us keep an extra set of clothes and a ready bag for when we need to leave quickly. You'll learn from the team our basic procedures. If you have any questions, ask."

Reid nodded absently, his gaze taking in his surroundings. "Thank you, sir."

"Hotch," he corrected.

Reid blinked and looked back at him. Hotch wasn't sure why the mild surprise made something tug in his chest. He stared a moment too long. When he turned away, he saw Prentiss studying him with a smile she'd failed to suppress.

Hotch went back to his office, wondering why he kept seeing knowing glances cast his way.

--- --- ---

(Fin, for now)

Word count: 4,190

September 15, 2009


	2. One Step Closer

One Step Closer**  
Series**: Shook the Bones, story 2  
By Clarity Scifiroots**  
Genre**: AU, pre-slash (Hotch/Reid)**  
Rating**: Teen**  
Summary**: Magic tricks, entertaining children, a case, and a missed opportunity.

--- --- ---

Laughter from the bullpen drew Hotch out of his office. He frowned, staring down at JJ, Garcia, and Prentiss standing behind Reid, who was sitting at his desk. Everyone grinned, except Prentiss, who looked confused. Reid said something and two of the women turned around. Prentiss rolled her eyes, but Garcia said, "Don't argue" and guided her by the arm. Reid peeked over his shoulder at them and then hunched over something on his desk. Recognizing one of Reid's "magic tricks," Hotch smiled to himself and made his way down the ramp.

"Fly, fly, my pretty!" Garcia cheered. Hotch heard a _pop_ and then a small object fell at his feet.

The room went silent as he leaned over and picked up the projectile. With an arched eyebrow he walked over to the group. The women had already begun to draw back.

"Do I need to remind you this is a workplace?" Hotch asked calmly.

Reid ducked his head, quickly tucking his supplies into a drawer. "No, sir. I'm sorry."

"Aw, bossman," Garcia pouted, drawing herself up to support one of her favorite boys. "Reid was just entertaining us."

"Then the break's over. I'm pretty sure there's plenty of _work_ related things to keep you entertained."

As the group dispersed, Hotch set the projectile on Reid's desk. He offered a small smile when the young man looked up. "You're getting some good distance with this thing." He turned away, fighting to keep a straight face in response to Reid's shocked expression.

Gideon waited in his office doorway with a scrutinizing expression. Hotch gave him a look that asked "what?"

"It took you eight months to smile at Prentiss," Gideon remarked.

Hotch resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he pushed past. "That might have something to do with the fact Strauss moved her in to undermine me." Of course, that plan had backfired, Prentiss proving time and again that she hated the favoritism and corruption of politics.

Gideon hummed softly, one of his most irritating habits – besides his knowing smiles. Hotch ignored him in favor of piling up completed reports.

"I noticed you're accepting the invites for after-work drinks more often," Gideon commented after a minute.

Hotch spared him a brief glance. "You know I'm at loose ends outside the BAU," he returned dryly. Without a family to go home to every night, he basically had no life beyond work. Gideon hummed again. Annoyed, Hotch snapped, "Out! I have work to do." Although he didn't look, he knew Gideon was smirking. Damn it.

Left alone, Hotch couldn't concentrate and stared blindly at the reports on his desk. Had it really taken that long to adjust to Prentiss? He was pretty sure that made the longest record. Adjusting to JJ had been almost instantaneous, her non-obtrusive personality making it easy to feel comfortable around her. Morgan took some time, but after about five cases he'd earned a great deal of Hotch's respect. Elle was introduced to the BAU through an important case that made her transition almost seamless. Gideon had been in the lead when Hotch first arrived, making that dynamic different. Garcia continued to throw Hotch off, but it was impossible not to like her. And Reid…

Hotch realized they'd shared a smile upon their second meeting, and at the third, Hotch had been ready to offer a casual touch. The reminder of that incident made him frown. Even four and a half months into the job and twice as many cases to get to know the team, Reid flinched away from physical contact. He didn't panic, although there'd been one time that Morgan had come up behind him unannounced and clapped his shoulder – that had been a near call.

Now thoroughly distracted, Hotch turned to his computer to check on Reid's file. Every three weeks Hotch received notice that Reid attended his scheduled psych appointments. If he didn't, Hotch would have to report it, which would likely lead to a suspension. Hotch didn't like the idea of Reid burning out so early and wondered, not for the first time, if he ought to broach the subject. As much as he didn't want to intrude on his team's personal lives, Reid's past would eventually catch up with him on a case.

Hotch did not look forward to the conversation. He wondered if he could convince Gideon to take on that task; he'd gotten close to Reid as a mentor.

---

His ex-wife called Wednesday evening to say her flight had changed to leave at six on Friday morning.

"I know Jack was supposed to be with you a half day before the weekend, and I hate making him stay with you at work all day, but I don't really have a choice."

Hotch rubbed his forehead, already trying to rearrange his schedule in his head. He wasn't mad, though it did make things more difficult. "It's alright. I've got a couple of his coloring books, and you can pack up his latest favorites."

Haley laughed, pure amusement that Hotch hadn't heard in over a year. "Your office into a playroom? Oh god, your team will want to know who abducted their boss."

He smiled at her tone. "Guess I'll have to be extra stern come Monday." He glanced at the timer on the stove. "Listen, I'm finishing up dinner. What time can you drop Jack off on Thursday?"

"We'll eat dinner and I'll give you a call. That should give you a couple hours before wrestling him to bed. He's getting worse about demanding to stay up."

"Thanks for the heads-up." Hotch turned off the timer before it rang and removed the pot from the burner.

Haley let out a sigh of relief. "Aaron, I really appreciate you taking him early. Sorry it makes work difficult."

"Hey, I love the extra time." They both fell silent at that. Hotch's schedule made visits difficult, and at the beginning of their divorce Haley had stubbornly refused to be flexible. In the past three months they'd been working on establishing a more friendly connection.

Eventually she coughed. "Ah, see you tomorrow."

"Great. Bye, Haley."

---

Hotch prepared a take-along breakfast for Jack before going into the bedroom to wake the five- (_and a half!_) year-old. The boy was none too happy to be woken up and rushed through morning routines. Hotch finally promised his son a donut if he'd finish up and get in the car with no more complaints.

Eventually they got out the door and on their way. Jack dozed off again, waking up only as Hotch opened the back door to unbuckle his son.

"I got it!" Jack insisted. He wasn't quite as happy to carry his own knapsack but Hotch patiently told him that with a briefcase and a bagged breakfast, Daddy had his hands full.

Security looked amused when Jack asked if his breakfast would be okay going through the scanner. Hotch had to look to one of the guards to give assurance, Jack wouldn't take his word for it.

Prentiss was the only one in the bullpen when they arrived. She looked up and grinned. "Hey, Jack! Are you helping your daddy today?"

Jack perked up and nodded proudly. "Yeah! He was gonna sleep in!"

Shaking his head in amusement, Hotch directed his son towards the office. JJ appeared soon after, also taking a moment to greet Jack. Her attention turned to Hotch and she reminded him about the nine o'clock meeting – one of two that had prevented him from taking a sick day.

"You probably need someone to watch him," she commented as Jack settled himself in the middle of Hotch's office and dumped out the contents of his backpack. "I can do this afternoon," she offered.

"Thanks. I'll see if Morgan's up to it this morning."

JJ grinned. "I really doubt he'd turn you down."

Hotch made sure Jack settled down at the edge of Morgan's desk with his donut (after his real breakfast) and juice before he hurried off to his meeting. He heard Jack ask who the new guy was just as he stepped into the elevator.

---

Morgan liked kids. He hardly felt ready for any of his own, but he enjoyed hanging out with his friends' children and occasionally spoiling them. Jack had his mouth full of donut when Reid came from the kitchenette with a mug of coffee.

"Who's that guy?" Jack asked, crumbs falling past his lips. Morgan handed him a napkin with the reminder to not talk with his mouth full.

Reid hesitated a moment, staring at the child across from his desk.

"Um…" Reid sat down, looking a little wary. His gaze flickered around the bullpen before settling back on Jack. "My name's Spencer Reid." He paused before asking, "What's your name?"

Mouth now clear, Jack shifted onto his knees in his chair. "I'm Jack Hotchner," he announced. "You work for my dad," he added.

Reid stared, seemingly at a loss for what he was supposed to say next. He looked at Morgan, eyes widening slightly in an expression that asked for help. Morgan held back a grin. No way, he wanted to see the kid figure this out on his own.

"You're skinny," Jack said, scrunching up his nose in disapproval. "Mom says you need to eat to get big 'n strong 'n healthy. You're gonna shrink." Morgan started chuckling.

Reid set down his mug as he said, "That's extremely unlikely." Morgan recognized Reid's lecture mode. "I'm at an acceptable weight for my age and height. And 'shrinking' isn't quite the appropriate term for what happens when people age, although in appearance it may seem that elderly adults get smaller."

Prentiss coughed into her hand, barely covering a laugh. Morgan glanced over at her and they shared a grin. Reid was even more awkward than usual. Jack looked confused and Morgan didn't blame him.

"Ooookay. You're boring." Jack turned back to his donut and resumed eating.

Reid looked to his teammates, expression completely bewildered. He met Morgan's amused stare and mouthed "I'm no good with kids."

---

Hotch hung back, not alerting the team to his presence. Prentiss nudged Reid's shoulder with a grin while Jack – hanging onto Morgan's back – chanted, "Do it! Do it!"

Reid cast a quick glare at Prentiss before digging in his drawer. Hotch snorted softly as Reid hunched over, an obvious sign that he was setting up his film canister rocket. Jack would love it.

Lift-off was preempted this time with overly exaggerated hand-waving. With encouragement from Morgan, Reid added in some "magic words." Jack cheered when the rocket went off, flying clear across the room to hit the wall. Morgan grinned proudly and even Reid looked delighted with the distance. Hotch saw Prentiss glance at the clock and remind the others that the boss would be back soon. He backtracked a few steps to give them time to clean-up, then came around the corner.

Jack had untangled himself from Morgan and now stood close at Reid's side, trying to open the young man's desk drawer.

"Those are my things, Jack," Reid said, one hand pressing firmly against the drawer to keep it shut.

"But it's _magic_!" Jack complained. He held onto the handle with one hand and used the other to try prying Reid's fingers away.

"It's not polite to go through other people's things," Reid protested.

"You're not the boss!"

Hotch cleared his throat, coming up behind Jack to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Jack, Reid's right. You shouldn't go through someone else's things." He glanced at Reid, who looked relieved to see him. "But maybe if you ask nicely, he'll do another trick for you." Reid didn't look so pleased about that.

Jack cheered up at that possibility and turned away from the drawer. He grabbed onto Reid's sleeve and tugged. "Yeah! Do some more!"

Reid glanced up at Hotch, mouth opening to say something, but the words seemed to get lost. Hotch quirked an eyebrow and the younger agent sucked in a breath, looking back down at Jack.

"Ah, okay…" He looked around his desk. "Um, I need my arm back." Once Jack let his sleeve go, Reid leaned over to rummage in his satchel. In a minute he sat back up with a quarter. He handed it to Jack. "See the back? That's the Mississippi image. Remember it, so you know it's the same coin."

Jack stared hard at the coin; his intense look of concentration made Hotch smile. "Okay."

Reid glanced up at Hotch again before taking the coin and rolling it across his knuckles. "Then here we go…" He moved his hands together, somehow managing to flip the quarter across to roll along his other knuckles. A second later, the coin disappeared.

Jack stared slack-jawed for a moment. Then he frowned at Reid's closed fists. "Hey, you're just holding it," he complained.

"Am I?" Reid smiled a little, spreading his hands wide and uncurling his fingers one at a time. He turned his hands over and shook them a little for good measure.

Again impressed, Jack peered down at the floor but could see no sign of the coin. "Make it come back!" he insisted.

"I don't know…" Reid said, an exaggerated look of doubt crossing his features. "It's hard to get it right, and a lot of work."

Morgan spoke up. "Maybe Jack can help you."

Reid sighed, "I don't know… two people might not be enough."

Jack tugged Hotch's hand. "Daddy, c'mon!" he begged. He looked back at Reid with expectant eyes. "What're we gonna do?"

Reid hummed in thought. "Well maybe we can see if…" He reached out behind Jack's ear and looked surprised when he pulled back a quarter between his fingers. "Did you have it?"

Jack grabbed it eagerly, but he frowned when the quarter's back revealed the usual eagle. "It's not the right one!"

"Oh!" Reid looked embarrassed. "See? I told you this was hard. Umm, do you know any magic words?"

"Yes!"

Reid looked up at Hotch and gestured for him to lean over. Curious, he did so.

"Okay, Jack, you need to wiggle your fingers like this," Reid instructed. Two pairs of hands started waving around Hotch's head. "Then I want you to start saying the magic words, okay?"

"Yeah!"

As Jack shouted "abracadabra" and started making ridiculous rhymes to keep it going, Reid moved one hand to Hotch's ear closest to Jack. With well-practiced slight-of-hand, Reid produced a coin without Jack knowing how.

"Wow!" Jack took the nickel, but looked back at Reid expectantly.

"Hmm." Reid turned his head as if examining Hotch's ear. "I think there's something else in there. Hotch? Can you tilt your head, try knocking it out?" He looked entirely too amused when Hotch complied and lightly hit the opposite ear. He could hear Jack suck in a breath.

"Holy cow!" Jack suddenly exclaimed. Hotch straightened up as a small hand shoved in front of his face to reveal the previous coins plus the original quarter and two dimes.

Hotch could feel his lips twitching upwards. "Pretty amazing, kiddo."

Reid leaned back with an exaggerated sigh. "I think I'm done now."

Jack turned to him with wide eyes. "You're a wizard!"

Morgan and Prentiss started laughing. Reid looked uncomfortable again and tried to wave it off. Hotch smiled gratefully at him.

"Funny that there's enough coins for a snack," Hotch commented. Reid shifted his gaze away.

"Keep that for later," Reid said. He turned his chair around. "I kind of need to get back to work."

Jack agreed reluctantly. As Hotch nudged him to gather his stuff to go back to the office, he leaned over to Reid and murmured, "Thank you."

Reid blinked in surprise. Slowly a slight smile crossed his lips and he nodded.

Jack raced ahead, ready to color in his Scooby-Doo book. Hotch glanced back as he followed behind. Morgan was grinning at him. Prentiss had quickly ducked her head but kept shooting glances between Hotch and Reid.

---

JJ poked her head into Hotch's office to say she had files to pass around before she could take Jack. Hotch gave her the okay and went back to gathering his notes for his meeting. Jack had started yawning about ten minutes ago and slowed down his coloring. If the trend kept up, JJ would be left with a napping child – infinitely less distracting and less exhausting. Hotch cleared some room on his desk so JJ could bring her work over. Then he grabbed a blanket and small pillow from a cabinet and lay it out.

"Hey buddy, I have to go soon but JJ's going to keep you company." Hotch knelt next to Jack and kissed his forehead. "Maybe you can lie down for a bit and let her read you a story."

"I'm not sleepy!" Jack defended. Immediately a yawn betrayed him. He frowned, which made it hard for Hotch to suppress a laugh.

"Well, just try lying down during the story. If you take a nap now, you'll probably stay awake for our movie later."

"Can we have popcorn, too?"

Hotch smiled. "If you're still hungry after dinner. Now let me get you wrapped up before I have to go."

Jack looked doubtfully at the blanket but closed his coloring book and got up. Hotch cocooned his son in the blanket and tickled him. Jack giggled hysterically and rolled around trying to break free. JJ returned to find them like that. She grinned widely as Hotch broke off the tickling to wrap Jack close and hug him.

"Okay kiddo, I'm going to go. Let JJ read you something and be good."

"Okay." Jack settled back on his own, curling up in the blanket as Hotch stood.

He murmured to JJ, "He might take a nap. I left a book of fairytales on my desk." The book was borrowed from Gideon's collection since Jack's books waited at home.

"Good luck," JJ said as Hotch grabbed his things. "We'll hold down the fort. Right, Jack?"

Jack rearranged his pillow. "I wanna hear Jack and the Bean Stalk." Seeing his dad's expectant gaze, he added, "Please?"

"Alright, let's see what we've got." JJ gave Hotch a little wave as he left.

---

On Monday Hotch felt relieved that his weekend with Jack went so well. Before noon the BAU loaded onto the jet, called in on an Albuquerque case. The local LEOs were facing the third in a series of kidnapping turned murders that involved teenage boys.

During the flight, Reid provided updated statistics about male versus female victims. Given the basic nature of most of his numbers (males more likely than females to be the victim of any violent crime other than rape or sexual assault, most murder victims are male), Hotch sensed Reid was using the information to process the case aloud.

Gideon started the flight engrossed in the file, sitting apart from the group as he read. About midflight he got up to join the rest of the group. "We have to hit the ground running," he said. "Locals estimate time between abduction and death to be approximately eight days. We're coming in on day four."

"They located where the third victim was abducted," Emily noted. "Blood was found – Ray Donovan's – in an alleyway behind a bistro. Nothing to suggest significant damage, but this is the first time the police could pinpoint the abduction site."

Morgan nodded. "Could be an indication the unsub is devolving."

"Or Donovan is the first to put up enough of a struggle to leave a trace," Hotch reminded. "We need to check in and then see to the families. There's no clear indication that these boys knew each other. They didn't go to the same school or church and were abducted within a sixty mile radius of one another."

"Their interests did cross," Reid said. "Similar GPAs, enrolled in at least one AP class – they were dedicated in their academics and a couple extracurriculars."

Morgan tapped his file against the table. "Essentially they're geeks. They might not stand out visually" – Prentiss rolled her eyes, knowing he was envisioning the stereotype nerd with thick glasses and a pocket protector – "But geeks, none the less."

Gideon acknowledged the observation with a small nod. "We need to figure out what aspects the unsub is targeting. Does he choose his victims because they appear to be more vulnerable? Or is he looking for the more academically focused?"

Hotch glanced at the photos again. He studied the latest boy – shaggy brown-blond hair; lean, probably going through a growth spurt; hazel eyes. When he looked up his gaze caught on Reid. It clicked suddenly that Ray Donovan and Reid looked similar enough to pass as siblings. Hotch found himself staring and wondered when the others would notice.

He tried to shake it off, focus back on the brainstorming session. He couldn't get rid of a sudden chill.

---

They caught the unsub on the morning of day six. Gideon, Prentiss, and Reid remained at the station where they worked on an interview with the unsub to get a usable confession to seal the case. The forensics from the first two scenes, and even initial findings at the unsub's home and work, were shaky at best. Morgan and Hotch joined local law enforcement to find the third victim and hopefully solid evidence to make their case.

Three hours later they uncovered Ray Donovan's body in a pile of refuse along an underpass.

"He got sloppy," Morgan muttered. He and Hotch stood back to let CSU process the scene. "At least we have something that'll stand up in court."

Hotch nodded stiffly, gaze locked on the face of the sixteen-year-old. With a split lip and multiple bruises marking his face, Donovan eerily reminded Hotch of Reid's appearance when they first met.

Morgan sighed. "Nothing more we can do here."

"Prentiss said Clayton talked. Gideon waited him out." Hotch paused. "And brought in Reid."

"Does he look young enough to fit in Clayton's target range?"

Expression grim, Hotch said, "Close enough."

---

On the flight home Gideon and Reid settled into a game of chess. Hotch surreptitiously kept an eye on them while skimming one of Prentiss' novels. He noticed Reid's attention wandered, often staring vacantly at some spot on the floor and his shoulders tensed. Gideon must have noticed but wasn't likely to make a comment about it, especially on the jet. Hotch didn't know the details about what had passed with the unsub at the station and found himself wary about what he'd read when all reports came in.

"Hey, Hotch!" Morgan called. "Come join us." He held up a deck of cards.

Before he could offer his book as an excuse, Prentiss said, "You're barely paying attention to it. Give it up and have some fun."

It took a couple minutes of consideration (and cajoling from his colleague) for Hotch to turn over the book and take a seat at the table. JJ grinned at him and Prentiss nodded in approval. Hotch cast the chess-players a sidelong glance. Reid was staring at him. Hotch caught only a moment of it and had no way of knowing how long Reid had focused on him, though a glimpse of Gideon's subtle frown suggested it had been unusual.

"Get your head in the game or you're going to lose," Morgan warned.

---

"Hey, ah, do you have a minute?"

Hotch looked up from the reports to find Reid standing awkwardly in the doorway, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets. "Yes, of course." He indicated a chair. "A little late for you, isn't it?"

Reid shrugged as he sat down. "Not really. The only early days I seem to have are when JJ or Morgan drags me along for company." His gaze lowered and he smiled self-deprecatingly. "Uh, I haven't exactly established an outside 'normal' life."

"I understand." Hotch settled back in his chair, relaxing his posture in silent invitation for Reid to continue.

"Some people function better in multiple social settings," Reid commented, gaze steady again. "I've always found myself most comfortable in small groups."

Reid had provided more personal information about himself in three minutes than he had in the five months he'd been at the BAU. Hotch controlled his surprise from showing.

Silence hung between them for a couple minutes. Hotch waited patiently, knowing that the younger man had a reason for coming in.

Eventually Reid drew a long breath and said, "He touched me." He eyed the reports on the desk.

"What do you mean?" Hotch asked, though knew the basics now: how Clayton had grabbed Reid's wrist when he attempted to leave the interrogation room; Gideon's calm insistence that Reid sit down again and the unsub let go, talked about himself.

Reid's lips tightened before he responded, his gaze fixed on the desk. "Our last case… the unsub. He grabbed my hand." He tucked his hair behind his ears. "It made me—I was angry, but I knew I couldn't _do_ anything about it." He closed his eyes as he heaved an irritated sigh. "Then Gideon had me sit down and got him to let me go. He kept staring at me, smiling when he waived his rights and laid out his process in detail."

Clayton ignored Gideon until the very end when he mockingly warned the man of his colleague's vulnerability.

"If I stayed angry I could lose my temper. Instead he—" Reid cut himself off, jaw tightening.

"He singled you out, wanted to get a rise out of you," Hotch said. "Reid, you knew what you couldn't allow to happen and controlled yourself. You did a good job on this case."

Reid stared at him, far from reassured. "He inti—he tried to intimidate me." Anger flared briefly in his eyes. "I wasn't scared of him. I'm not scared of our unsubs. In the end, they can all be defined. I can describe them and hold in my hand a page that reduces these men to words. A profile." There was more he didn't say, the implication that despite having the ability to categorize unsubs, he couldn't undo the damage they had done. "I'm not scared," Reid repeated, "but we can't stop them from haunting us, can we."

Hotch shook his head. "No. There will always be cases that stay with us. It's inevitable and we try different ways to cope." He paused, then asked, "Did you speak with the psychologist yet?"

Reid's lips thinned and he looked away. "Tomorrow." Hotch got the impression he'd just insulted the other agent. Reid cleared his throat and stood up. "Sorry to bother you. I guess I just wanted you to know why my report might look confusing when you get to the interview."

"Reid…" Hotch hid a sigh of relief when Reid stopped on his way to the door and turned around. "Thank you. For speaking with me. I know there's some… issues that come up during cases. When they do, I'd like you to talk to me." Hotch made sure their gazes met at that. "Everyone has their triggers and I'd prefer for those problems to be dealt with outside of the case."

The younger man tilted his head in acknowledgement. Something like disappointment flickered across his face. "Right. Thanks, Hotch."

This time Hotch didn't stop him. He muttered under his breath, "You're welcome," and knew he'd missed the chance to understand the response Reid sought.

With a frustrated groan, Hotch leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk. He rubbed his face tiredly and debated leaving. The sky beyond his windows had gone dark and the city lit up with night lights. Hotch eyed the reports in front of him and even though he could finish them easily within the hour, he knew he wouldn't be going home tonight.

--- --- ---

_Til next time...  
_

Word count: 4,651  
September 21, 2009


	3. Scars Are Souvenirs

Souvenirs You Never Lose

By Clarity Scifiroots

**Genre**: AU, pre-slash (Hotch/Reid)

**Rating**: higher end of Teen(?)

**Warnings**: A bit of nasty imagery. Allusions to physical and sexual abuse

**Summary**: "Scars are souvenirs you never lose, The past is never far" – Goo Goo Dolls, "Name"

--- --- ---

Five hours and twenty-five minutes, Hotch noted when he glimpsed the clock.

He stood with Gideon by the boards set up in the squad room. He surveyed the busy room with a deceptively calm gaze. JJ was updating Garcia in their appropriated meeting room; Morgan and Prentiss were combing through the latest crime scene with forensics.

Detective Howard approached them and murmured softly to Gideon. Hotch glanced sidelong at the detective, realizing that she had recognized his underlying mood and wanted to stay out of his way. He waited for her to walk away before turning to Gideon.

The older agent lifted an eyebrow at him in silent inquiry. Gideon pointed to the door and Hotch followed him out. They ended up in an observation room.

"What did she say?" Hotch asked when the silence dragged on.

"Miller's truck is being taken to the lab as we speak. Onsite survey revealed blood in the pickup bed." Gideon's gaze remained firm.

Hotch let out a steady breath, consciously keeping himself from shuddering. "How much?"

"Nowhere near enough to indicate death," Gideon said. After a few minutes, which Hotch knew the other man gave him to organize his thoughts, Gideon added, "He was covered with a tarp, wedged between some lumber Miller was hauling."

Hotch nodded in acknowledgement but his mind was preoccupied with mentally reviewing the details of their case. "He won't keep dragging Reid with him," he murmured. Gideon's grim expression confirmed that he'd been waiting for Hotch to say it. Shit.

"We need to know where he's headed. Miller's ready to leave his final mark."

"I'm checking with JJ and Garcia," Hotch decided, turning sharply. "Call Morgan and keep me updated about the truck." He didn't wait for Gideon's confirmation.

Five hours, forty-five minutes gone. Hotch knew they were on a countdown now, the entire squad room vibrated with the knowledge, but no one knew how long they had.

---

Hotch sat in the front seat next to Detective Howard as they sped down Arlington Road. Still some ways ahead Hotch could see the motionless machinery of construction work silhouetted in the rising sun. Garcia had pulled some fancy footwork and followed a convoluted lead to find a property loosely connected to Miller. The city was rezoning numerous areas, including the conversion of rundown housing to condos and a shopping mall.

"About to get bumpy," Howard warned, her fingers curling tightly around the wheel. Hotch continued to stare out the windshield, anxious for the vehicle to skirt current construction and get to Miller.

Twelve hours and seventeen minutes since Reid disappeared. Hotch had already said his prayers, now he was entrusting his faith to his team and local law enforcement.

"There!" Hotch pointed out a sagging duplex with boarded-up windows. The house next to it had already been demolished, the rubble crowding into the long-dead lawn.

Hotch shoved open the car door as Howard slowed. She snatched his wrist as she rolled to a stop. "Agent Hotchner," she snapped, "we need backup."

Hotch glared at her and pulled out of her hold. "My agent's in there with a sexual sadist set on making a permanent mark on my team."

She sighed but let him go. A moment later she was at his side, buckling her Kevlar vest. They kept low, guns and flashlights out as they approached the front door from opposite sides. The hinges groaned as Howard pushed it open and from somewhere in the house they could hear voices.

Hotch took the lead, signaling Howard as they moved. His gaze took in the details of their surroundings, but his focus remained on the sounds ahead. Only Miller's voice, now, accompanied by harsh breathing and frequent pained whimpers. As he and the detective edged along the walls toward the kitchen, Hotch prepared himself for what they would see. For now his goal was to get Reid clear, details of his injuries would have to wait.

Although Howard had kept their approach silent, sirens sounded in the distance. Hotch finally caught a glimpse of Miller as the man shifted in the kitchen.

"They're coming for us, Spencer. They're coming to take you back, like they took my women, my things. Tried to erase me and my memory." Reid choked back a groan. Hotch quickly and silently indicated his plan to Howard. "But they can't banish me now. _You_ won't forget me, will you, Reid?"

"FBI, hands in the air!" Hotch took up position behind Miller and leveled his gun at Miller's head. He quickly assessed Reid's position and was satisfied Miller had stepped far enough away to leave the agent free from the line of fire.

Miller turned to smile at Hotch, a smug twist of his lips. He raised his arms in a shrug, one hand clutching a hunting knife and the other wrapped around Reid's gun. "You must be the agent in charge."

"Drop the weapons or I'll shoot," Hotch warned, though he wouldn't mind taking care of the guy immediately.

Miller's smile just widened. "You haven't even looked yet, have you?" His eyes flickered briefly to the side, glancing back at his captive. "You know, it's obvious you want to shoot me. Why don't I make it easy for you?" Miller moved quickly, his body going into position to aim at Detective Howard. His finger squeezed the trigger an instant before Hotch's bullet lodged itself in Miller's brain.

"Damn it!" Howard cursed. Hotch bent to pick up Reid's gun and check Miller's pulse. Nothing. He glanced at the detective and she waved him off. "Glancing blow, won't even need stitches."

Hotch crouched next to Reid, who'd been bound to a chair. The younger agent's eyes were unfocused when Hotch touched his cheek. Hotch started a cursory exploration of the wounds and froze almost immediately when he realized that the strange, slippery substance beneath the toe of his shoes was more than blood. He stared in horror at Reid's left forearm, skinned down to the dermis along a roughly four-inch length spread across the inner arm.

"Shit," Hotch hissed, a litany of curses repeating in his head. He looked up at Reid and saw the young man's eyes fluttering shut, his breaths harsh and uneven. "He's going into shock!" he shouted at Howard. "Come on, Reid. Hear that? The team's here and we've got an ambulance. Hold on."

Hotch noted dried blood flaking off the skin of Reid's neck most likely from the blow Miller used to incapacitate him. A trickle of darkened blood trailed down Reid's chin from where he'd bitten his lip. Reid's right wrist showed swelling from a possible sprain or break. Hotch grimaced at the sight of loose skin, a little over an inch, folded back from where Miller had begun more of his work.

"Out of the way."

He hadn't heard anyone else come in. An EMT bumped him aside and Hotch gradually regained his focus. He stood shakily as two emergency techs started treatment for shock while freeing Reid from his bonds.

A hand on his shoulder jolted Hotch from his focus. He met Gideon's gaze, hating that he was too jostled to keep control of his worry.

"Morgan's ready to go to the hospital. Ride with him and let the EMTs do their work." Gideon eased Reid's gun from Hotch's grasp. "This is evidence for now," he reminded gently.

They turned as Reid was lifted and placed on the gurney.

"Go." Hotch didn't need further encouragement.

---

"Hey, guys. We got coffee." JJ held out the cardboard tray to the men in the waiting room. Hotch took a cup mostly to give his hands something to do. Morgan offered a half-hearted smile in gratitude.

Prentiss took a seat next to Hotch. "Detective Howard bullied her way out of heading to the hospital any time soon." A small grin quirked her lips. "She's determined to head the wrap-up at the scene, let us round up here. Gideon said he'll stay until the scene's cleared."

"Where's Reid?" JJ asked quietly, gaze darting to the ER doors.

"They called the burn unit when he came in," Morgan said.

JJ blanched. "What did Miller…" She took a deep breath and tried again. "What happened?"

Hotch knew all eyes turned to him. He concentrated on his coffee cup, focusing on its warmth to ground him as the scene played out in his mind.

"Miller had no interest in killing him." _You won't forget me, will you?_ "He was just biding his time for us to arrive. Suicide by cop." Miller hadn't cared about his aim when shooting at Howard. No, he didn't care about killing anymore, it was about torture and leaving scars.

"Hotch?" Prentiss' voice was surprisingly gentle as she guided him back to the present.

Clearing his throat, Hotch continued, "His wrist looked broken. The blood in the truck was from a head wound." His gaze trailed to the exposed skin of his wrists. His mind provided a detailed image of Reid's arm – skin gone, veins dark, muscle sinew visible… "The unsub cut into his arm." Hotch pretended to drink his coffee as an excuse to pause. "He'll need a skin graft. Burn unit."

JJ shuddered and leaned into the arm Morgan had wrapped around her shoulder.

Prentiss looked grim. When she spoke, she caught Hotch's eye. "Miller wanted to leave something Reid would never forget."

Hotch didn't look away when he corrected, "The unsub wanted all of us to remember him." _Skin cleaved from the body of his agent on the floor, slippery under his shoes._

"He won't win," Morgan muttered.

Hotch clenched his jaw, knowing that he wouldn't be able to forget. Morgan had to know none of them was likely to forget, but whatever his meaning, it escaped Hotch's understanding for the moment.

---

Gideon joined them shortly after a doctor came out to inform the team on Reid's status. The staff would keep a careful eye on him during his recovery from the concussion. His wrist was sprained badly but would be the easiest injury to move past. Reid's primary doctor, Maryanne Keane, and a burn unit specialist consulted regarding the use of artificial skin or skin grafts. For the right arm where the skin had not been fully severed, sutures had taken care to prepare the area for healing. A skin graft for the other arm would be the best choice.

The doctor continued. Hotch felt sick as she calmly informed the team of additional cutting along Reid's hip. Miller had dug into the flesh deep enough to ensure permanent scarring. She didn't explain if there had been a pattern to the wounds but Hotch knew by her studiously blank expression that there was something significant there.

They were allowed questions at the end of her summary and assured that they would be allowed in briefly once Reid had been moved to a private room.

---

The hospital staff allowed two visitors in at a time to see Reid. Hotch hesitated a moment before agreeing to be part of the first pair. Morgan kept two steps ahead of him, obviously anxious to see his friend. Only Gideon and Hotch had seen Reid at the scene.

When they reached the doorway, Reid turned his head to face them. Morgan promptly dragged the provided chair over to the bed and sat down on Reid's good side. Hotch studied Reid's arm, turned palm-up with the arm supported by a cushion. What looked to be a thick coat of ointment glistened over the skinned patch of flesh.

"Hi," Reid said quietly. His gaze flickered self-consciously to his arm; a moment later he seemed to look anywhere else, though didn't meet his teammates' eyes.

"It's good to see you, man," Morgan said. He patted Reid on the shoulder. "Garcia wants to talk to you as soon as possible. Make sure you're prepared for exuberant mother-henning."

Hotch almost smiled at that. All of the team had at least once stayed in the hospital for injuries, and Garcia tended to get exceedingly protective in the aftermath. She got all the more worked up when something happened to Morgan, and given her obvious affection for Reid, Hotch suspected similar treatment.

"She makes a mean chicken soup," Hotch contributed.

Reid blinked in confusion. "Isn't that the folk remedy for the common cold?"

"And it's 'good for the soul'," Morgan explained with a tolerant eye-roll. "But Garcia does make pretty good care packages when you're stuck on medical leave. Bet you can get anything you want from her with your puppy-dog eyes."

Hotch was glad to see Reid's amusement. There was still something haunted in his eyes, but it wasn't dragging him under – at least not yet. Hotch stood by silently as Morgan continued to coax small smiles from their bedridden colleague.

After a while a nurse knocked on the door frame and announced, "I believe Agent Reid has additional friends that wish to see him?" She arched her eyebrow pointedly. "Fifteen minutes left for everyone, then we have doctor's orders not to let you in until normal visiting hours start in the morning."

Morgan stood up but leaned over and slowly brought up his hand – so as to give Reid warning – and ruffled the agent's hair. "Take care, kid. I'll see you later."

Reid wore a blank expression when Morgan pulled away. Hotch would have liked to establish some form of contact – a simple hand on the arm to feel the reassuring warmth of life – but he recognized Reid's already stretched-thin tolerance for physical contact. Instead, Hotch caught the young man's gaze and nodded. He murmured a soft "good night" and followed the nurse into the hall.

---

Dr. Keane pulled Hotch aside the next day to discuss further treatment. She explained that it would be best for Reid to get his skin graft at a hospital he could return to for check-ins. Since his other injuries were not critical, she felt confident Reid could travel and check into Potomac Hospital in Virginia.

"I've spoken with Potomac staff about the situation and had a conversation with Dr. Reid this morning about his options. Before making the necessary arrangements I wanted to clear this with you as the supervisory agent." Dr. Keane held out a clipboard with forms to sign. "I need to go over with you or one of your other agents how to transport Dr. Reid safely. If you're able to leave today, the surgeon in Virginia may be able to schedule the graft for tomorrow morning, otherwise the next opening isn't until the day after."

Hotch skimmed through the forms. "We should be able to leave this evening," he agreed. "Make the appointment. I'll see to Dr. Reid's care during travel."

Dr. Keane smiled. "Great. You look over the forms, sign where marked, and I'll be back after talking with Potomac."

"Thanks." Hotch tucked the clipboard under his arm as he made his way to Reid's room where the rest of the team had gathered. Somehow they managed to fit three chairs and yet leave some floor space. Gideon leaned against a wall with his arms crossed, a small smile on his face as he watched Reid try to argue with JJ for some coffee. Hotch joined him against the wall.

"Good news?" Gideon asked without turning his head.

"We'll fly back to Quantico tonight and get Reid checked in at Potomac. They should be able to do the graft for his arm in the morning."

Gideon nodded. "Good. I'll make the call to the airport then head back to the hotel." This time he turned to Hotch; "Do you want me to pack your things?"

Hotch blinked in confusion. "I can go back. I'm mostly packed."

"Why don't you stay," Gideon suggested, his expression deceptively blank. Hotch knew a setup when he saw it, he just wasn't sure what Gideon expected him to do.

"Alright," he agreed cautiously.

"Hey guys, what're you muttering about?" Prentiss called from across the room.

Hotch noticed Reid watching him patiently. He held up the clipboard and replied, "Release forms – temporary. We're heading back to Virginia tonight." He moved closer to the bed and met Reid's gaze. "They'll fit you in tomorrow morning. This should cut down on your hospital stay."

Reid nodded acceptance.

"Are you feeling up to travel?" JJ asked, concern apparent in her tone

"They'll switch me to a higher dosage of acetaminophen this afternoon after a final check on possible complications from the concussion," Reid explained. "It's just a little pain, JJ, I'll be fine."

Morgan teased, "But we all know how much you like to bounce around on the plane, you'll just have to take it easy this time."

"Think I'll take the chance to sleep without interruption." Reid did look exhausted. Hotch doubted he'd slept more than five hours straight in the past four days. The case had everyone working late hours, and after his abduction and then frequent checks due to the concussion, Reid would have had little rest.

"Sounds like a good plan," Hotch murmured. He glanced at the rest of the team. "Pack up your things and check out at the hotel. Gideon's securing our flight. I have some forms to fill out and need to speak with Dr. Keane again."

Prentiss and JJ exchanged a silent look. The blonde eventually nodded with a small smile and stood up. "Come on, Morgan. We've got some packing to do."

In response to Morgan's reluctant expression, Reid said, "I'll live without you for an hour. Just promise me some decent food when you return."

"We'll check with your doctor," JJ replied.

Gideon took the lead as they left. Prentiss motioned Hotch to a chair next to her.

After a minute of silence, Reid closed his eyes with a sigh. "I don't appreciate being stared at," he muttered.

Hotch exchanged a quick glance at Prentiss, suddenly realizing that they were positioned similar to how they first met; except Reid didn't wear cuffs this time and instead of a table separating them, they had a hospital bed.

"Well I'd offer chess," Prentiss said, "but you'd whip my ass."

Reid rolled his eyes. "I don't think I'm up to my usual capacity."

"Did Gideon leave a set?"

Prentiss leaned over and picked up a travel board. "You're going to chance it?" she asked, a smirk crossing her lips.

Hotch raised an eyebrow at Reid. "Promise you won't beat the pants off me?"

Looking amused, Reid said, "We're not playing strip chess, Hotch."

"Have you done that?" Prentiss laughed. She began setting up the board on the swing table.

Reid smiled mysteriously. "Wouldn't you like to know."

By his third move, Reid's grimace at stretching to move the pieces got Emily to step in. "You tell me the move, I'll make it," she instructed, giving Reid a no-nonsense look that was meant to be obeyed. The fact that Reid didn't protest indicated his level of pain.

Hotch didn't feel terribly outmatched, though he eventually tipped his king in acknowledgement of checkmate. Reid smiled tiredly at his visitors and dozed off, head tilted to the side and hair draping over his cheek. His lips parted as he breathed. Prentiss bit her lip as she held back a chuckle. Hotch ducked his head so she wouldn't see his smile.

---

Hotch approved Reid's medical leave for a week, assured by both medical staff and the patient that much of the healing process would be complete by then. He did warn Reid that his return wouldn't involve immediate return to the field, something that the younger agent argued against, as had been expected.

As Morgan and Hotch predicted, Garcia swooped in to provide an abundant care package as soon as Reid got home and called daily to check on things. She also dropped by every other day to be extra sure that he was taking care of himself. Prentiss accompanied her once, as did Morgan, and he also stopped by on his own. JJ spent her Saturday with Reid, bringing over Thai food and a few sci-fi movies as a bribe.

Hotch visited at the hospital, but after Gideon drove Reid home he stayed away. He had plenty of work to do, with additional paperwork due to the kidnapping of a team member and subsequent medical treatments. Midweek a report came in from the psychologist to note Reid's reaction to the case didn't reveal anything unexpected and that he should be cleared for field duty shortly after his return to work. However, for the next few weeks he would have weekly sessions.

During Reid's absence Hotch picked up his phone countless times and sometimes got to the point that the number came up on his screen before he tucked the cell away. Even if they were… friends, his position as supervisor made Hotch feel uncertain about how Reid would take his call. Then again, he wasn't sure "how" he wanted Reid to interpret his call, nor did he understand why it mattered to him.

He distracted himself with paperwork and consults on the pile of requests that always gathered in the BAU inbox. During the weekend he managed to spend Saturday with Jack. The next day he busied himself with blocking the tangle of thoughts and emotions wrapped up with Reid that had somehow snuck up on him.

---

Hotch never made a call, but he did take part in the "welcome back" plans. Garcia delegated work and Hotch ended up purchasing the gift card for a nearby coffee shop; "For all the hours he's going to be stuck here with me," Garcia explained.

Although Morgan had offered to carpool, Reid drove in on his own. Hotch was up in his office finishing a phone call when he heard the team reacting to Reid's arrival. Gideon met Hotch outside his door and they watched as Reid sidestepped every hand that tried to make contact with him. He managed a slight smile each time and eventually moved the attention to the basket Garcia had set on his desk.

"His avoidance is more pronounced," Gideon remarked. "He has a long way to go."

Hotch gave a tight nod of agreement. If Reid wasn't making progress on his contact issues in the psych session, maybe it was time to call him on it.

Gideon seemed to read his mind. "I'm not the right person for that conversation, Aaron."

Hotch shot him a startled look. "Any particular reason why? He admires you."

"I'm his mentor," Gideon acknowledged. "But I'm not hands-on."

"And I am?" Hotch asked skeptically. He paid attention to his agents, certainly, and taking the statement more literally, he did feel comfortable offering casual touches. But he didn't pry into the team's private lives and generally did not step into personal problems unless they truly compromised someone's work.

Gideon crossed his arms on the railing and watched Hotch calmly as he stated, "You care about this. For personal reasons, perhaps more than the professional."

Puzzled, Hotch looked down at the bullpen and back to his colleague. "I get the feeling I'm not going to like what you're implying."

Gideon offered his mysterious smile. "Look at them." He nodded to the group below. "Consider what you're feeling. Then think about how your reaction would differ if I had been in the situation – or Elle, or anyone else besides Reid."

Hotch kept his expression carefully blank. His mind had already made the jump towards the tangled thoughts that had been pressing on him recently. "I think you're fishing, Jason," he said coolly.

Turning back to the team, Hotch found Reid looking up at them with a curious expression. When their gazes met, Reid tilted his head slightly and offered a tentative smile. Hotch caught his breath, heart suddenly hammering in his chest. The younger agent quickly looked away, tucking his hair nervously behind his ear. Morgan caught him up in a conversation and Hotch could almost physically feel the moment pass.

Gideon's amused voice recaptured his attention, "Sometimes you don't have to be searching for it."

_I don't want it_, Hotch thought, numb and a little desperate. He didn't hear if Gideon said anything else, only knew that a moment later he stood alone.

--- --- ---

Fin (for now)

A/N: I know it sucks to stop there. The ending was a bitch to write. Actually, in general I ran into complications, largely because I got caught up in needing to know things about the injuries Reid incurred. (Although you'll note not a lot of detail came in here *facepalm* This always happens to me.)

What to expect in the next story(stories?)… Rossi. I figured out a way to tie him in since fanfic has certainly intrigued me and I'm getting used to his character as I make my way through season three. (_Do not spoil me for other seasons!_) Also, if you couldn't guess by the beginning half of this, importance will be placed on the physical scars inflicted.

September 29, 2009

Word Count: 4,041


	4. A Cannon's Echo

A Cannon's Echo

By Clarity Scifiroots_  
Disclaimers apply! This is a fan's work._**  
Characters**: Hotch, Reid; Morgan and team**  
Genre**: AU, (pre-)slash (Hotch/Reid)**  
Rating**: higher end of Teen(?)**  
Warnings**: Some Morgan/Reid snuck in here. O__o Also, major UST**  
Summary**: A case requires some undercover work to lure out the unsub, Reid has to face his touch phobia, and Hotch isn't sure where he stands.

_The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer. _- Oliver Wendell Holmes

--- --- ---

Sidestep's exterior looked similar to many other bars found on the surrounding blocks; brick exterior, high-set windows bearing neon signs promoting beer, the door solid and dark-colored. Glass blocks framed both sides of the door and glowed in a sequence of rainbow colors.

Inside Hotch and Reid found the alcove where employees sat to receive entrance fees the evenings. The walls of the alcove were plastered with posters and flyers from the club, snapshots of patrons – mostly of male-male couples – and stickers of all shapes, colors, and sizes proclaiming various expressions of gay pride.

"I see all three of our victims," Reid noted, stepping closer. "But only Bruce Lewis is pictured with his long-term partner." Reid pointed out the photo. Hotch looked it over, then tried to spot the other victims. Sensing his dilemma, Reid pointed out the photos.

"Excuse me, is there a problem?" A middle-aged man with dark hair pulled back into a short ponytail stood nearby. Beyond him, behind the bar, a younger man with spiky, bleach-blonde hair watched them with a cautious expression.

"I'm Agent Hotchner and this is Dr. Reid. FBI," he said as he showed his badge. "We're here looking into the deaths of three men."

With a frown the man asked, "And this has something to do with my walls?"

"I noticed the pictures," Reid explained. "Three men pictured here have been murdered in the past two months. Are you Charles Link?"

"Charlie," he corrected. He crossed his arms and looked between the two agents. "So you're here thinking my place as something to do with these deaths?"

Hotch smoothly kept his tone calm and body language relaxed. "Our investigation led us here due to the victims' familiarity with Sidestep. It is possible someone saw something here that can help this case."

Charlie considered that for a moment. Then his expression relaxed from his previous defensive tension. Hotch had difficulty keeping still as Charlie looked him over, appraising.

"Alright, come sit down. Rick works most nights, might have something to say. Cal and Lucy get here in about twenty minutes. They work the door."

As they settled in at the bar, Hotch noticed Reid shifting uncomfortably at his side. A quick glance revealed Rick making eyes at the younger FBI agent.

"Can I get you anything, agents?" Charlie asked.

Hotch grabbed the chance to divert Rick's attention. "Water, please. Reid?"

"No, thanks." As soon as Rick turned away, Reid tucked his hair behind his ear and pointedly focused his attention in Charlie's direction. "Do you recognize any of these men?" Reid laid the photos (provided by friends and family) of the victims on the counter.

Charlie leaned close to Hotch, looking down at the photos. From the corner of his eye he could see Reid's frown.

"David," Charlie's expression tightened. "He and Danny usually came by Thursday nights." He met Hotch's gaze as he said, "Their fifth anniversary was last month."

Hotch nodded, expression calm. "The other men?"

"I Think this guy's name is Grant? And that's Bruce. Fuck." Emotion filled his eyes and he took a shaky breath. "He and Johnny… celebrated ten years last weekend. Excuse me." Charlie stood and walked across the room, one hand clenching and unclenching.

Hotch thanked Rick quietly when his water appeared. Reid turned the pictures toward the bartender.

"Yeah, knew 'em all." Rick's eyes remained locked on the photos, any thought of flirting with the young FBI agent apparently pushed aside. "Bruce and Johnny are like family. Bruce always made sure to say hi to everybody any time they came in. Charlie knew Johnny a long time. The guy's rich and he helped start up the club. Charlie says the guy was a real loner before Bruce came around." Rick glanced at Charlie and shook his head. "We hadn't heard. Shit, this is going to kill Johnny."

He sighed, then tapped the photo of Grant. "This guy's new to the area. Moved to be with his boyfriend. Guess they'd been on and off for a couple years before deciding to go more permanent."

"How well did you know them?" Hotch prompted.

Rick quirked a grin. "Hey, I'm a bartender, right? Bruce was just personable, you know? David's a regular, but he and Danny came here for the atmosphere, not long philosophical conversations. Charlie might know a little more, he's good at getting people talking. Grant came in a lot on the off-nights, I think he liked having someone to chat with. I did see him here during one of the drag shows last month with his boyfriend, but we didn't talk that night."

"How did you know about the anniversaries?" Reid asked.

"Well, Bruce and Johnny were here on Saturday for their party. David and Danny had a stop-in here on their night, too. Grant made a big deal one night about celebrating his second 'official' anniversary." Rick glanced between the agents. "Wait. I haven't seen him since then. And we heard about Dave the week after their party."

Hotch interrupted, "We'll bring their killer to justice." He made sure Rick had met his gaze before continuing. "Anything you can tell us about these men or the nights when their anniversaries were mentioned will help us."

Shaken, Rick nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

---

"The unsub targets the non-white partner of gay interracial couples around their romantic anniversaries. The trigger for each murder seems to be related to announcements made at Sidestep. It's probable our unsub will make a move if we plant two of our men undercover."

"We don't have the resources to keep up something long-term on the _chance_ this bastard will pop up," Captain Harding said.

Gideon explained, "The unsub is getting more restless. The first murder occurred a week after the anniversary announcement. Grant Kwan, five days; Bruce Lewis, seventy-two hours. He's grabbing the men earlier and the signs of torture indicate increased confidence. It's a solid conjecture the unsub will make a move within forty-eight hours of our own planned announcement."

Harding frowned but nodded his agreement. He glanced out the conference room's door to note the men in the squad room. "You have plans for your undercover choices? I can tell you now getting any of my men to volunteer for this will be like pulling teeth."

"We'll take care of it. I would like one of your men behind the bar, however," Hotch said. Harding easily agreed.

"Not often I get to go clubbing on the Bureau's dime," Morgan grinned. He shrugged at Harding's look of surprise. "It's a job, man. Your guys might think it'd be uncomfortable, but it's not going to be a big deal. Not like we're seducing the unsub."

Hotch glanced surreptitiously at Reid. The younger man's shoulders were tense as he stared at their notes on the board. He didn't look like he'd be up to the assignment, and Hotch hadn't expected him to be. He was impressed how well Reid had been holding together thus far.

"Morgan, we'll need to talk with Charlie before we go in," Hotch said.

"Sir, not to criticize your style tastes," Morgan started with a smile, "but you're going to need a casual look. We _are_ celebrating our anniversary at a club."

Harding stared at Hotch. "_You're_ going in?" he asked skeptically.

Before Hotch could answer, Reid interrupted. "As agent in charge you really should be directing operations from the outside." The blonde spoke quickly, hands dancing as they sometimes did when he explained complex ideas. "Although it is ignorant to assume there is a single stereotype of a homosexual male, your posture reads as closed-off, and in the club setting you would need to appear more open and be able to affect a sense of intimacy with your partner. This would be difficult considering the day-to-day work interaction where you are the supervisor."

Hotch hid his shock as best he could. He turned so that he addressed Reid directly and partially blocked the others with his body. "Reid," he said in a lowered voice, "I can do this with Morgan. I trust you to help monitor the situation. You don't have to do this."

Reid's jaw tightened momentarily. His gaze darted to Morgan and he offered a slight smile. "So, what problems do you have with my wardrobe?"

Morgan smirked. "Kid, you've gotta lose the premature middle-age college professor look."

Hotch let the argument drop and turned back to the group to make the arrangements. It didn't escape his notice that Harding had no problem believing Reid could fill the required role.

---

Hotch divided his attention between listening to the details of the surveillance setup and watching Morgan and Reid standing off to the side talking. It was obvious from Morgan's casual touches that they were working through Reid's instinctive avoidance. He hadn't anticipated the matter to be addressed in this way.

"Only the club owner is aware of the details of our presence?" Harding asked.

"Two other club workers are aware that a sting is taking place. Charles Link will be with Agent Prentiss at the door," Hotch said, momentarily turning his full attention to the conversation. "The usual DJ will be on the floor and a regular bartender will be present."

Reid took a step closer to Morgan and wrapped an arm around his waist, an almost-natural-looking smile crossing his lips, though the light didn't quite meet his eyes. He said something that made Morgan laugh. They stepped apart again and Reid tucked his hair away from his face. Morgan patted Reid's arm and plucked the bottom edge of Reid's shirt. The blond leaned back slightly, tension crossing his expression. Morgan touched his elbow soothingly and Reid sighed, looking down as he apologized.

Gideon tapped Hotch's shoulder. "We're all set here," he murmured. "How're they doing?"

"Doing better than I expected with the short prep time," Hotch replied. "Morgan reads him pretty well."

"Good. Get them ready with the equipment and we'll roll out."

Hotch arched an eyebrow, silently questioning why Gideon felt he needed the reminder. Gideon didn't deign him with a response.

A tech was already consulting with Morgan and Reid when Hotch approached. Both would wear a camera, wire, and earwig. Morgan had a hat to help hide his earpiece since he didn't have Reid's advantage of hair to obscure its placement.

"Let me help you set up," the tech said, focusing on Reid.

The blonde tensed. "Ah, just let me—I need to get something." He turned away and made a quick retreat to the conference room.

Morgan and Hotch exchanged a knowing glance. Addressing the tech, Hotch said, "I'll help him." The tech shrugged and handed over the required equipment. Morgan obediently lifted his shirt to let the tech start taping the wire across his chest.

Hotch closed the door behind him so that he and Reid had privacy. The blonde leaned over the table, shoulders stiff as he stared blindly at an open file.

"Reid," Hotch said, "let's get you situated."

Reid glanced up, his unease written clearly in his expression. "'M sorry," he mumbled. "I just… I'm not comfortable..." He grimaced and looked away. "But, ah, t-thanks. For the help." He straightened up and with a deep breath, tugged up the edge of his shirt, indicating his readiness.

Hotch started with the mic, handing Reid the slim battery pack to slip into his pocket. Reid lifted his shirt higher so that Hotch could tape the wire down. Hotch kept his breathing even, pleased when Reid matched his example. The skin beneath his fingertips was pale but mostly unblemished. The shirt he wore had a swooped neck that showed the scar crossing his collar bone. Hotch's eyes strayed downward for a moment and he was somewhat surprised to see the pink lines of recent scars peeking above Reid's waistband. _From Miller,_ he realized; only six weeks past.

Reid gratefully tugged down his shirt when Hotch finished. They finished positioning the mic and Hotch applied the last piece of tape. Reid tucked back his hair to put in the earpiece and Hotch checked that it would stay hidden. Lastly he handed Reid the glasses he'd be wearing with a small camera. Reid's shirt lacked fastenings which ruled out the buttonhole camera that Morgan would be wearing.

"Looks good," Hotch said.

Reid gave him a wry smile. "Thanks."

"You'll be okay?" Hotch checked.

The younger agent didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I trust Morgan. And Hotch, you really wouldn't be a good choice."

"Why?" he asked, baffled.

"Difference of position," Reid echoed his earlier argument. He shrugged and continued, "Also, I won't have to deal with Harding staring at me. I'm pretty sure he's convinced that I have particular insight in this case because he perceives me as gay."

Hotch frowned, although he agreed with Reid's assessment. "Let me know if he's inappropriate."

Reid let out a startled laugh. "He's ignorant, but not actively prejudice," he assured. "Still, if this will go down easier by my playing to his role, fine. I feel better with you watching our backs, anyway."

"I'll be here." Hotch motioned to the door. "Ready?"

Reid nodded. "Show time."

---

While most of the team set up at Sidestep, Morgan and Reid took a rental car to the nearby Courtyard Marriott to check-in on reservations already made. Morgan smiled at the receptionist as he signed the paperwork. When they were set, Morgan declined help with their meager luggage and wrapped his arm around Reid's waist.

In the elevator they stayed close as they joined other guests on their way to their rooms. Once inside the room, however, Morgan let Reid have his space again. He eyed the queen-sized bed skeptically but Reid didn't seem overly bothered as he settled his suitcase in the closet.

"We should leave in twenty minutes," Reid said. He took out his toiletries bag and set it in the bathroom.

With a shrug, Morgan settled his own bags in place, then stood at the window looking out at the city. He felt disconcerted by Reid's relatively smooth transition away from his usual touch phobia.

"Hey, Reid," he said after a few minutes.

"Hmm?" Reid looked up from his perusal of a local magazine.

Morgan leaned back against the window and watched his partner, considering whether he should prod. Deciding it was about time someone said something, he continued, "I have to admit, I'm surprised you volunteered for this."

"Undercover as a gay couple?" Reid set aside the magazine and folded his hands in his lap. Morgan watched as he took a measured breath. "We need to stop the unsub. He's already killed three men and destroyed the lives of their partners."

"Could've let Hotch take the part. No one required you to go in."

Reid's eyebrows arched. "Really? I think I was about the only choice Harding could accept." He shook his head before Morgan could say anything. "I don't really have a problem with that. I meant what I said about Hotch not being a good fit."

"Okay. But are you really okay with this?"

The blond shrugged. "I trust you."

"You've always hated to be touched. By anyone," Morgan had to point out.

Reid glanced away. It took a few moments for him to answer. "It should be, ah, rather obvious why…" he trailed off and cleared his throat. "But it's not like I _want_ to be… I guess, 'alone' forever. I trust you guys, but it's still hard." He returned his gaze to Morgan and offered a self-deprecating smile. "If a case requirement helps—" He cut himself off abruptly, surprising Morgan.

Eyes wide, Reid hissed, "Are the mics on?"

Morgan blinked quickly, a jolt of anxiety shot through him at the possibility before he remembered he and Reid had control of that. With a relieved sigh he said, "Don't worry about it, kid. We turned them off before leaving the station. 'Long as we remember to switch them on before we get to the club we won't have someone yelling in our ears."

Reid buried his face in his hands, breathing shakily. "God, I wasn't even thinking…"

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't think about it when I asked." Morgan came closer so he could rest his hand on Reid's shoulder. "Look Reid, the whole team's got your back. Anything you need, we've got you."

Reid tucked his hair behind an ear, a light huff of laughter passing his lips. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

Morgan glanced at the clock and stepped back so Reid could stand. "We should get going." His hand was on the doorknob when Reid touched his elbow.

"Morgan? Thanks… I know you guys keep tiptoeing around it."

"Anytime, kid."

---

Reid and Morgan pulled into the parking lot. They turned the mics on before stepping out into the chilly night air. Morgan shot his partner a warm smile of reassurance.

With a hand at Reid's hip, Morgan led the way to Sidestep's entrance. The line led outside the door but not too far. Thursday nights were apparently busy, but not quite full with the college-age crowd that would be on the weekend. Inside they paid the entrance fee to Prentiss, who did an ID check before fastening bracelets around their wrists to indicate acceptable drinking age.

"I think you'll always be carded, babe," Morgan teased, lightly touching his lips to Reid's hair. The blonde rolled his eyes tolerantly.

"At least I won't be the one looking like he's robbing the cradle in a few years."

Morgan laughed. Charlie looked on in amusement as he waved them in. "Enjoy," he said.

"Certainly," Morgan returned. With a saucy wink he said, "Me and 'the kid' here are going to be enjoying ourselves just fine."

"How did I stick with you for two years?" Reid bemoaned as they made their way further in.

At the bar where they ordered drinks from the undercover detective who turned over non-alcoholic versions. Morgan wrapped his fingers around Reid's hand to keep hold of him as they snaked their way through the crowd to a table a few feet back from the dance floor.

"I'm going to make you get out there with me, you know," Morgan said, grinning. Although Reid had joined the team at bars and a couple clubs before, he'd never danced.

Reid shuddered dramatically. "You know I hate dancing," he grit out, just loud enough to be heard over the music. Morgan was relieved that the volume wasn't quite as deafening as many clubs were. Reid had always seemed to prefer places where people could talk; he'd excuse himself early when they went to places with ear-splitting volume and music with beats that literally made the body vibrate.

"It's our anniversary, give a little," Morgan returned.

"You might try sweet-talking me a little more," Reid said.

"That," Morgan agreed, "or some extra liquor." Pointedly he swallowed the rest of his rum-and-coke and winked. "Want to finish that and get another one?"

Reid rolled his eyes before obliging. "I don't believe in liquid courage, but I'll humor you."

"Sure, babe, whatever you say."

Morgan managed to drag Reid onto the dance floor within a half hour, amused that the blond let his reluctance fall away shortly after finishing his second drink. He was surprised when Reid began to move with the music's rhythm as soon as his feet touched the dance floor. There was a certain naturalness in the movement that Morgan hadn't expected. Reid's eyes closed partway but his gaze darted quickly around the people surrounding them. They weren't crushed together as they might have been on another night, but Morgan knew Reid wasn't quite comfortable with strangers at his back.

Morgan moved closer, brushing his fingertips against Reid's sides to indicate their familiarity. He refrained from commenting on his surprise that Reid could dance, knowing that it would break character. Reid accepted his touches and occasionally moved closer in. His hand cupped Morgan's cheek briefly and he offered a genuine smile. He mouthed "thank you," before his gaze started darting around the room again.

"I need video of this," Morgan said, grinning as he thought of Garcia watching the feed. "Show your coworkers you know how to loosen up."

Reid glared at him and tugged Morgan close. He leaned in, lips nearly brushing Morgan's unoccupied ear as he said, "Don't you dare."

The intimacy of their position was hard to ignore. Instinctively Morgan rested his hands on Reid's hips and turned his head so that their cheeks touched. He could feel Reid struggling to stay put; the blonde shivered and then relaxed with a long exhale. Morgan froze in surprise when Reid nuzzled against his neck.

Clearing his throat, Morgan said, "Ready for a break? I wouldn't mind a beer."

Reid pulled back, eyebrow arched in amusement. Morgan cleared his throat again, uncomfortable about feeling a little _too_ comfortable.

---

Hotch watched Morgan's video feed as the agent returned to the bar for a second round of drinks. He exchanged pleasantries with the undercover detective and mentioned that he was trying to get Reid buzzed to dance on their anniversary. On another monitor Garcia went wide-eyed.

"Reid? Dancing?" she said.

When Morgan walked away, Gideon spoke into the mic connecting to the agents' and detectives' ear-pieces. "Did anyone notice someone taking interest?"

JJ was the first to respond, her position near the bar. _"A few congratulations and there is a guy who's scowling. Ramirez, see who I'm talking about?"_

Their undercover bartender turned as he made someone's drink so that his camera caught sight of a man at the opposite end of the bar from JJ. The man didn't look happy, his hand wrapped white-knuckled around his beer.

"Garcia?" Hotch prompted.

"Yup. Captured and running facial recognition system through criminal databases and the DMV."

By the time Morgan had convinced Reid onto the dance floor, Garcia was searching for all the information she could get for one Jackson Williams.

"Holy crap!" Garcia exclaimed.

"What'd you find?" Gideon asked.

"Reid can _dance_!"

Hotch fixed his gaze back on Morgan's feed. She was right, Reid seemed to move naturally and the only sign of unease was his own video feed, which showed him keeping an eye on the club's other patrons.

_"I need video of this,"_ Morgan said with a chuckle. His feed was quickly blocked by Reid's body, the other feed closed in on the side of Morgan's face.

_"Don't you dare,"_ Reid murmured.

A surprising shock of jealousy shot through Hotch's gut as he saw the two agents move closer. With one side of a headphone pressed against his ear, he could hear Morgan's breath speed up. He was stunned when Reid's feed showed him pressing into Morgan's neck.

Morgan's voice was a little higher than normal when he asked, _"Ready for a break? I wouldn't mind a beer."_

Gideon's hand clamping down on his shoulder brought Hotch's attention back to the surveillance van. The older agent sent him a cautionary glance before nodding to Garcia's screen.

"Okay, I might not be a profiler but I'm thinking this is our guy. Jacky-boy's sister committed suicide last year after her husband served her with divorce papers. He was leaving her for a black man who he'd been having an affair with for some time. All this information came from Jackson when he came to town during the investigation. The detective notes Jackson was furious and ranting about the ex's culpability. Doesn't look like anything happened to either of the men, though, and Jackson returned home. Your first murder is right around the first year anniversary of his sister's death."

"Let's get a warrant for his home," Hotch directed at Harding. "Garcia, what kind of car does he have? We'll have someone check it out now." As he spoke, Gideon was contacting the inside agents to let them know who to watch.

Harding said, "Judge is probably going to want a little more to go on before our warrant."

_"Ramirez can hand off his glass and run the prints," _JJ suggested.

They only had a partial on the ring Bruce Lewis had been wearing, but matching up the points could be enough to press the judge.

_"We're cool,"_ Morgan said. His voice startled Hotch. The agent was back at the bar, his body angled so that his camera found Jackson. This time the man was openly glaring. _"Two beers for a toast,"_ he told Ramirez.

"Wait fifteen minutes, then make your exit," Hotch directed. He glanced at Harding and Gideon. "We can move some people to the hotel?"

"You don't think he'll make his move earlier?" Harding asked.

"We already have someone in the parking lot," Gideon pointed out. The detective there hadn't found anything obvious with Jackson's car, but stuck around to keep an eye on things. "Have someone tail our guys on their drive back. This guy's going to make his move tonight."

_"Got it,"_ Reid echoed a moment after Morgan.

Garcia bit her lip nervously. "Tell them to be careful."

"They'll be fine," Gideon assured.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, Hotch's eyes widened in shock when Reid leaned in and huskily murmured, _"Time to go."_

_"Is it hot in here?"_ Morgan's chuckle sounded a little nervous.

Reid's hand appeared on the feed, held in Morgan's as the agent brought the palm to his lips.

_"Jackson's getting ready to leave, he's watching them,"_ JJ reported.

Reid and Morgan stood and walked hip by hip as they left. As they passed the entrance alcove, Prentiss stared at them with her lips parted in surprise.

Charlie looked the agents up and down, then smirked.

_"Private celebration,"_ Reid explained.

Morgan sounded like he was choking for a moment.

Charlie's grin broadened. _"Have fun, boys."_

Hotch barely managed to contain a curse. From the corner of his eye he could see Gideon staring at him with a bemused expression.

_"Scowling guy's leaving,"_ Prentiss muttered.

_"Got up soon as they got to the door,"_ JJ confirmed.

Morgan and Reid reached the parking lot. _"Take him here?"_ Morgan asked under his breath.

"What?" Harding looked puzzled.

Gideon ignored him in favor of answering Morgan. "If you can. Prentiss, Jones, get outside." Agent and detective sent affirmatives.

_"Reid…"_ Morgan said, voice almost low enough not to be picked up.

Suddenly Reid stepped away and turned to Morgan, his hands moving to the agent's neck. _"I'm fine,"_ he said before pulling Morgan in. The camera picked up Morgan's surprised gaze before his eyes closed and their bodies pressed closer.

Hotch looked away, jaw clenched tight enough that his teeth ached. He couldn't relax, even when he noticed Garcia staring at him with a sympathetic look.

_"Head's up!"_ Prentiss snapped. _"Jackson! Drop your weapon!"_

The feeds for the agents' cameras shifted violently for a moment as Morgan and Reid pulled apart. Jackson stood a couple yards away, expression wild but his hand steady as he aimed a stun gun.

"He only attacked when the men were alone," Harding muttered.

"He only needed a little pressure to break," Gideon answered.

_"Jackson Williams, drop your weapon,"_ Prentiss repeated.

Morgan pulled out his gun. _"FBI. It's over, Jackson."_

Jackson glanced around wildly, taking in the sight of four guns pointed at him. Hotch saw his glance catch on Reid, the only person currently without a weapon; he shouted into the mic, "Eyes on Reid!"

Prentiss fired, her bullet catching Jackson's shoulder. The man let out a scream of frustration as he stumbled forward from the shot. The stun gun fell from his grip and the detectives closed in to handcuff him and staunch the bleeding.

_"Secure!"_

"Warrant will meet us at Williams' home," Harding said.

Hotch turned away from the monitors and stood up. "I'll go with you." He ignored Gideon's critical glance.

---

After wrapping up at the police station for the night, Hotch retreated to the hotel's gym. He ran for an hour on the treadmill, his only company two other guests, both with headphones. He showered and changed in the locker room and reluctantly headed back to the room where he was bunking with Gideon. He knew the other man would pry into his reactions during the day. Hotch didn't particularly feel up to the brain-picking and soul-searching tonight. Possibly never.

He exited the stairwell and turned the corner.

"Hey."

Hotch looked up from digging the keycard from his bag to see Reid in the middle of the corridor with his hands in his pockets.

"Reid," Hotch greeted. His thoughts whirled, trying to come up with any theory as to why Reid stood awkwardly in front of him.

The younger agent took one hand from his pocket and nervously raked his fingers through his hair. "Um. I, uh, was kind of hoping I could talk to you…?" He grimaced at the floor, refusing to meet Hotch's gaze.

For a few moments Hotch processed the request in silence. Eventually he nodded. "Okay. Let me drop off my things. There's an all-night café next door."

"Yeah. Sounds great." Reid offered a crooked smile. "Thanks."

They took the elevator to the lobby and walked across the parking lot in silence. A gray-haired woman greeted them as they walked into the café and welcomed them to sit anywhere. A few patrons sat at the counter and in a booth near the door. Hotch let Reid chose their spot, which ended up being a corner booth across the room.

Both men chose to order coffee despite the late hour and didn't speak much until the waitress brought their cups.

Reid dumped an unholy amount of sugar into his cup and stirred in a single creamer until the dark liquid lightened to a chocolaty brown. Hotch mixed in his own additives – with significantly less sugar than Reid's – and sipped slowly, waiting for the other man to speak up.

"So…" Reid exhaled the word, then huffed in exasperation. He combed his fingers through his hair again. "I wanted to say thanks. For, ah, being patient. I know you've been keeping an eye on my—" he made a face "—'issues.' I mean, besides getting the psych evals."

"You did good today."

There must have been an edge to his tone because Reid looked at Hotch sharply. After a moment his confusion turned into embarrassment and a faint blush covered his cheeks and trailed down his neck.

"I-I was playing my role. What did I—_Did_ I do something wrong?" Reid's fingers visibly tightened on around his cup. He couldn't quite look Hotch in the eyes, instead his gaze focused somewhere over Hotch's shoulder.

Hotch closed his eyes briefly, telling himself clear away the personal complications that had risen because of the case. After a moment he opened his eyes and said, "You did an excellent job, Reid. I'm proud of you."

Reid did not look convinced. He contemplated his coffee before taking a drink. Hotch debated what to say in the meanwhile.

"This wasn't an easy case." Hotch winced mentally when he heard the clumsiness of his opening. Reid watched him with interest, so he continued. "The murders were brutal, filled with a hatred hard to truly comprehend. In the wake of these murders there are also the partners…"

"Did you know," Reid said softly, "that Grant Kwan's lover is still searching for someone to help him take legal action against the Kwans? The family barred him from any funeral arrangements and denied him access to any of Grant's things."

Hotch sighed. "After our interviews at Sidestep yesterday I looked into Johnny Smith. He was just admitted into psychiatric care after a suicide scare."

Reid shook his head, repeating Rick's words under his breath, "'This is going to kill Johnny.'"

They stayed quiet for a few minutes, occasionally drinking their cooling coffee and getting lost in personal thoughts.

Reid broke the silence. "How can someone rely on another person that much? Why would anyone…" He trailed off, pausing. He tried again, changing his next question, "Why do _we_ want to lose ourselves in someone else?"

Hotch noticed Reid staring at his ring finger where, at their first meeting, a strip of paler skin gave evidence to his marriage. He looked down at his hand and for the first time in many months he rubbed a thumb over the bare finger.

"I think ideally that sense of loss of self transforms to the understanding that two people complement each other," Hotch murmured.

Reid traced a finger along the rim of his empty cup. "Luciano de Crescenzo said, _'We are, each of us angels with only one wing; and we can only fly by embracing one another.'_"

Hotch smiled. "That sounds about right." He looked up and was surprised that Reid met his gaze.

"So your wife… she wasn't…?" Reid bit his lip, clearly thinking he'd overstepped his bounds.

Hotch considered the question seriously. He and Hayley had loved each other very much and were close throughout the first eight years of their marriage. But they had married young and their lives changed, significantly so when Hotch went to the FBI and transferred into the BAU.

"No," he finally replied. "I loved her, and maybe if I hadn't found a calling in the BAU we could have continued. But things change." He focused on Reid and found he couldn't think of anything to say or even if he'd had plans to say more.

Reid stared back, expression bemused. After a long pause he licked his lips nervously. Hotch's gaze focused on the movement and he felt something in his chest constrict. Jesus. A few hours ago those lips had been kissing another agent. Heaven help him, but Hotch wanted desperately to lean closer and lay claim to those lips and find out how Reid tasted.

"Hotch…" Reid whispered, eyes wide. He had moved closer; the bench of their booth connected around the table and they had already sat close, but now they were elbow to elbow.

Desire and desperation made Hotch's nerves dance and he knew that if he moved his hands away from the table he would be shaking. Reid swallowed visibly and a look somewhere between fear and want and desperation of his own crossed his face.

Hotch breathed shakily and closed his eyes as he felt his hand slide off the table and onto the bench. With trembling fingers he touched Reid's side. The younger agent's sharp inhale sent a stronger jolt of desire through Hotch and he grasped desperately at Reid's sweater, tugging, wishing…

_Not here, not now_, a voice in his mind hissed urgently. _Not ready, not ready…_

Dimly he heard one of the men at the counter laughing with the waitress.

"H-Hotch," Reid stuttered. Hotch opened his eyes. Reid stared at him, expression suddenly vulnerable and unfortunately filled with unease. "This isn't…" Reid leaned away but when he dropped his hand over Hotch's – which still clung to the sweater – he didn't try to disengage. A look of pain flickered through his gaze. "I can't," he finally whispered.

Hotch could feel Reid's fingers shaking against his skin and he knew at least some of the sensations that were thrumming through Reid's body.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't," Hotch murmured. He unclenched his hand and slowly drew back. Reid caught his fingers and didn't let go. "Reid, it's alright."

Reid's expression hadn't changed much, although Hotch could see the flicker of desire again. "I'm sorry," Reid repeated again, voice so low it was almost like he merely mouthed the words. "I can't…"

_I can't_ echoed in Hotch's mind along with his own litany of, _We shouldn't_.

Their fingers were still tangled together.

"Reid, let go," Hotch said gently.

It took another few moments before Hotch had his hand back. Reid's eyes closed and his grimace of pain caused an ache in Hotch's chest.

The younger agent turned away and began pulling himself out of the booth. "Sorry, Hotch. Jesus, I don't know…" He shook his head helplessly.

Hotch successfully fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. He got up too, though they maintained a safe distance as they awkwardly stood. Their gazes slid past one another's shoulders, neither willing to meet the other's eyes again.

The waitress called from behind the counter that they could come up to pay; she was probably the only reason they were able to pull themselves away from the moment.

They went in opposite directions when they got outside. Hotch walked around for nearly an hour. By then his anxiety began to ease and he had the faintest of hopes that he might be able to sleep. He opened the door to the hotel room and grimaced when he saw Gideon laying in the far bed reading a book. With fierce determination, Hotch clenched his jaw shut and prepared for bed in silence. Gideon recognized the signs to leave him alone and said nothing.

Hotch lay on his side, staring at the wall for hours when not dozing in short bursts of sleep. Eventually Gideon turned off the light and fell asleep. Hotch continued to rest fitfully throughout the night, mind preoccupied with too many thoughts to count.

--- --- ---

(to be continued)

Word Count: ~6,200

October 13, 2009


	5. The Weakness

The Weakness

_Shook the Bones 5_

By Clarity Scifiroots

**Characters**: Hotch, Rossi; team

**Genre**: AU, (pre-)slash (Hotch/Reid)

**Rating**: Teen

**Summary**: Reflection and conversations in the wake of the undercover case. (An interlude.)

---

Garcia stared at Morgan, slack-jawed. He shifted uncomfortably.

"What do you mean," she enunciated each word carefully, "you've been 'thinking about Reid?'"

"Garcia…"

"Shush!" Garcia glared him into silence. "Have you no eyes? Did you suddenly go blind? Honeybear, I know you're better attuned to the female sex, but you've got to see the sparks between Reid and a certain other agent… a.k.a. the bossman?"

Morgan closed his eyes and sighed. Garcia sounded scandalized and all he'd wanted to do was try to talk to someone he trusted about how he'd felt during the last case. His history in sexual and romantic relationships solely involved women, although on the rare occasion he'd entertained fantasies about men who'd caught his eye. In general he waved it off as a passing fancy, acknowledging that there was some attraction to the idea but not enough to overcome certain deep-rooted fears. But Reid wasn't bigger than him, didn't intimate or dominate with his body, and Morgan always got the upper hand the few times they sparred in the gym.

And there was one of the things he wanted to talk about: Was he somehow feminizing Reid in his mind which made the possibility of getting sexually involved more plausible?

"Penelope," he said, catching Garcia's attention. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern and she leaned forward to touch his knee. "I just want to talk."

"Okay. I'm sorry. You'll always be my chocolaty god of goodness, you know that, right?" He rolled his eyes at her and she smiled in return. "Now tell me what this is all about. The Queen of Gossip is lost in the wilderness and you're in the presence of the Super Secret Keeper."

After taking a deep breath, Morgan began to speak.

---

Hotch frowned as he reread his report. Nothing he typed seemed right. He knew he was at the point that he'd need to turn it over for Gideon's opinion. He'd been pushing that off until absolutely required. In the past couple days since the undercover assignment's closing, the older agent hadn't pressed for information. Although that hadn't stopped Gideon from staring at Hotch knowingly.

Muffling a sigh, Hotch printed out his report to take next door. For the most part he'd been able to keep to himself in his office, something that he needed when he didn't know how to interact with two of his agents.

Printout in hand, Hotch exited his office. A brief glance down at the bullpen revealed Prentiss and Reid wrapped up in their work and no sign of Morgan. Hotch paused only a moment in Gideon's doorway to rap his knuckles on the frame before entering. Gideon arched an eyebrow when Hotch closed the door behind him.

"I do eventually need you to look at a report," Hotch said, dropping said report on the desk before sitting down.

"Something else you wish to discuss first?"

Hotch gave him an exasperated look. "I'm yielding to the inevitable and allowing you five minutes to invade my privacy."

Gideon leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together across his chest. "I did notice a certain increase of tension."

"Undercover assignments tend to complicate things," Hotch replied. Gideon waited silently for him to continue. Hotch hid a sigh and let his gaze roam along the overstocked bookshelves. "You saw what happened."

"Between Morgan and Reid?" Gideon brought his joined hands up to his chin as he thought. "Not the development you preferred. Can't say I expected it, either."

Hotch dug his fingers into the armrest. "At least Reid's overcoming some of his issues," he said.

Gideon's lips twitched. "You do a surprisingly poor job hiding your thoughts when we have these conversations."

Hotch rubbed a hand over his face. He muttered, "I shouldn't even be thinking about any of this. If they… manage to continue their work without disruption, it's none of my business."

"Aaron," Gideon spoke in a tone that demanded attention. Hotch met his gaze with an expression of weary frustration. "Don't pretend this doesn't bother you. I know you've recognized your attraction to Spencer. You need to realize this doesn't mean the end of your career, it isn't wrong to try."

"We had coffee," Hotch admitted. He avoided Gideon's gaze by staring at the floor. "The other night, after the case. We talked about the case, and Reid asked about Hayley. It was like he was— maybe searching for answers about relationships." He pressed his lips together as he recalled the deterioration of conversation and how his focus became wrapped in the fantasy of kissing Reid.

After a long minute of silence, Gideon spoke. "What else happened?"

Hotch schooled his features before meeting Gideon's gaze. "I know it can't happen. I doubt he has any real interest."

"Aaron," Gideon sighed. "Small steps. Spencer's just started to feel secure enough to feel attraction again. He trusts us but he has memories that will keep his progress slow."

"It's a moot point," Hotch interrupted. "It would be inappropriate, and clearly he has interest in pursuing a…" he trailed off, uncertain if he could mask the bitterness he couldn't shake.

Gideon frowned. "You're being deliberately obtuse."

Irritated, Hotch stood up and motioned to the forgotten printout. "Take a look at my report, please."

"Aaron—"

"My personal life is off-limits, Jason," Hotch replied coldly. "Leave it."

He didn't make it through the door before Gideon managed to get in the last word, "He's never watched Morgan, Hotch. He always watches you."

Hotch clenched his jaw and decided to ignore the other agent.

---

Reid stood in the kitchenette, stirring in sugar by the heaping spoonful. His eyes were directed down at the cup and he monitored the coffee, but most of his concentration focused internally.

His first therapist after being cleared of murder charges had encouraged him to start his day by evaluating his presence of mind. He'd reluctantly tried it and surprisingly found it to be a comfortable routine. Gauging where he was mentally at the start of each day gave him a sense of balance, even during some of his worst moments. Knowing where he stood allowed him to better handle his work and interactions during the day, guiding him in taking on new complications.

He'd had a strange, listless feeling the morning after wrapping up the undercover case. He woke from a fitful sleep in the hotel room he'd been sharing with Morgan. Reid was relieved that they didn't talk much about what happened during their assignment – just skimmed over the case , and then Morgan had some gossip that Garcia passed along. Even though Reid didn't care much for gossip, he did enjoy collecting information. Morgan and Garcia seemed to stay close with their interactions marked with flirtation and the little things like mindless gossip; funny quirks that seemed out-of-place when surrounded by a building full of suited federal agents.

Reid wasn't used to having a group of people around him who so whole-heartedly supported and understood him. He felt stronger and was able to build up his self-confidence with the knowledge and surety that he had people at his back.

Reid dumped a final spoonful of sugar and some cream into his mug and stirred with renewed energy. He watched the color smooth out to an even, deep caramel-brown. He lifted the mug and sipped, thoughts roaming to pull out the memory of staring at Hotch's tense fingertips atop a portico-covered café table. They had sat close, not necessarily unusual, but the closeness had tugged at something in Reid that he'd been ignoring.

He knew logically that he could and would move on from his experiences. He was confident that one day he would feel attraction again and not be horrified at the possible consequences. One day he would accept that he could fulfill his attraction. In time he wouldn't panic at the thought of intimacy, and he would welcome the touch of a lover. He knew all of this on the intellectual level, but it still seemed implausible – emotionally, instinctively – that he would move on.

Yet when Reid had taken the undercover position and faced his touch aversion head-on with someone he trusted and he knew cared for him, it seemed to be the crack that was needed to start eroding the barrier of his fears that had left him more scared than shy about Hotch's simple touch on his arm or the weight of Hotch's stare. It was something he was deeply grateful to Morgan for. Reid's problems with physical contact had worsened again after Miller, after the pain and scars that man's actions had caused; but the undercover assignment, along with the need and desire to prove himself to men like Harding and prove to _himself_ that he was strong, sparked determination to move forward.

_One step at a time,_ his therapist's voice echoed in his mind.

Reid sighed quietly to himself at the apt cliché. _Fear of the pain blinds us to the goal of healing. Only by seeing our problems clearly and experiencing them can we do something about them._

---

Hotch joined Prentiss at a nearby Thai restaurant for lunch, in part because they both had a similar craving at the time and also because she had news from her mother to share. Hotch and Ambassador Prentiss did not have particularly close ties, but the powerful woman had taken an interest in her daughters' colleagues, especially after the BAU got involved in a case on the ambassador's recommendation.

They were halfway through lunch when Prentiss asked, "Did I tell you my mother's taken special interest in Reid? She's read the few articles he has published and tracked down his dissertations."

Hotch arched his eyebrows in surprise, unsure how else to respond.

Prentiss rolled her eyes. "She wants to meet him, and I swear she's fantasizing about making him her son-in-law."

That got a more definite reaction. Hotch choked on a noodle and it took a few moments to clear his throat. Prentiss looked at him apologetically with wide eyes. He carefully sipped from his water and resisted the urge to glare. She twirled her fork between her fingers, silent for some time.

"You know I'm not interested, right?" she finally asked.

Hotch kept his expression blank, respecting her enough not to act like he didn't know what she meant, yet also refusing to acknowledge his understanding. Prentiss glanced at him before averting her eyes.

The moment passed and Prentiss steered the conversation in another direction, asking about a new technique Garcia had come across to calibrate multiple searches.

They finished lunch and returned to the office, where it should have been fairly quiet with most people away for the lunch break. Instead, they stepped off the elevator to hear Reid rambling.

"What's got him worked up?" Prentiss muttered, frowning.

Hotch's steps quickly took him into the bullpen where he halted abruptly in surprise. Reid stood near his desk, hands in constant motion as he talked. It seemed like he barely took a breath between sentences as he faced a familiar dark-haired man.

"Dave?" Hotch eventually managed to say.

Reid's lips stayed parted as he trailed off. His gaze flickered between Hotch and David Rossi.

Rossi turned his head to Hotch and smirked. "Aaron."

"What on earth are you doing here?" Hotch approached the two men.

"Good to know you still have no interest in my publishing accomplishments," Rossi said dryly. He turned fully and clapped Hotch's shoulder. "Book signings?" he prompted.

Hotch shook his head, only vaguely remembering his friend having mentioned something about a book tour along the east coast. "Why didn't you let me know you were coming by?"

Rossi shrugged. "Element of surprise." He paused, then added with a slight smile, "Or I wasn't sure I'd have the time."

Hotch contained a snort at that. "Were you convinced that you'd be hounded for all-day interviews and newscasts?"

"Actually, I was given an extra couple days in DC since my signing in Lancaster was canceled. And since I _am_ paying for hotel stays out of pocket, why not help an old friend and offer a place to crash…?"

Hotch arched an eyebrow. "Where do you expect to sleep?"

"I figured you'd make the gentlemanly gesture and lend me your bed while you take the couch."

"You are sadly mistaken," Hotch told him. From nearby he heard Prentiss clearing her throat. Remembering that there were other agents around, Hotch brought the conversation out of the private and introduced, "This is Emily Prentiss. David Rossi is a former member of the BAU."

"And twice-published book author," Prentiss finished with a smile. She shook Rossi's hand. "Yes, I've heard. Nice to meet you, sir. Congratulations on your latest work."

"I'm hoping it's even better than the first," Rossi replied with no trace of modesty.

Reid licked his lips before speaking again. "Second publications are statistically shown to have higher purchase ratings, in large part due to consumers' recognition of previously-published names. With your name already well-known from top-selling non-fiction lists and among the law enforcement community, I'm sure your success is guaranteed."

Hotch recognized the amused look on Rossi's face and knew the man was valiantly trying not to grin. On the chance that Reid had forgotten to introduce himself, Hotch said, "I see you've met our resident genius, Dr. Spencer Reid. He's the latest addition to our team."

"Nine months," Reid said quickly. He licked his lips again, clearly nervous.

"And no second thoughts?" Rossi asked. He tossed Hotch a teasing grin. "Even with this hardass taking the lead?"

Reid blinked, seemingly at a loss.

Hotch resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Rossi isn't well-known for following the rules."

"Maybe you should loosen up and take my example," Rossi replied.

Gideon joined them in time to hear the latest exchange. "There are good reasons to adjust the rules," he agreed with a significant look at Hotch. It didn't go unnoticed by Rossi, but Gideon distracted him with a greeting.

Rossi clapped Gideon's shoulder and accepted a hardy handshake. "Good to see you, Jason. Still hanging around here, I see."

"Hard to leave," Gideon acknowledged.

Prentiss turned to wave Morgan over from the elevator. "Come meet David Rossi."

Hotch watched Morgan evaluate the former agent with a quick glance-over.

"So this is your team?" Rossi turned to Hotch after the final introduction.

Reid started to answer, "Actually there's JJ—" Who suddenly appeared from her office to interrupt.

"Hotch, Richmond PD is asking for an emergency consult."

Back to work. Hotch only had to open his mouth to get the team moving toward the conference room. He glanced apologetically at Rossi.

"Call me when you get the chance. Maybe I'll still be in town when you're done."

"It was good to see you."

Rossi gave him a small grin. "I will find out which rule Jason thinks you should break."

Hotch ignored the comment to catch up with his team, aware that Rossi kept watching his back and puzzling over his retreat.

---

The consult in Richmond on their kidnapping case went surprisingly smooth with the safe return of the eight-year-old girl and the unsub's arrest. They'd closed the case within thirty hours, making it one of the shortest cases the BAU had ever worked. Even so, Hotch felt exhausted by the time he finished writing his report and headed for home.

He remembered to call Rossi just as he pulled in to park. Hotch managed to fend the man off for the night and promised some time during the next evening. So it happened that the following day Hotch left the office at a reasonable hour, picked up Chinese take-out, and found Rossi standing outside his apartment door with a six-pack.

"Hi honey, you're home," Rossi greeted, a smirk turning up the corners of his lips.

"Shut up," Hotch muttered as he unlocked the door.

They made it through the food and two beers apiece before Rossi smoothly inserted the question, "So who's tempting you to break the rules?"

Hotch paused as his mind transitioned from talking about the merits of fictional crime thrillers and "true crime" non-fiction to his personal life.

"Why are you asking about a 'who?'" Hotch replied with the first thing that came to mind.

Rossi arched an eyebrow. "I haven't been out of the game _that_ long. Besides, Jason gave you a particular look that gave me a good idea something personal is going on."

Hotch groaned and leaned back in his chair. He covered his eyes with an arm as he debated the wisdom of talking about this. Then again, Rossi wasn't part of the team, meaning he'd be reasonably unbiased and also unable to constantly badger Hotch about the issue.

With a sigh, Hotch admitted, "I almost kissed one of the agents under my supervision."

Rossi promptly returned, "The blonde or brunette?"

Hotch didn't say anything. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to talk about this. He hadn't considered how Rossi would react to discovering—

"I see," Rossi said, amusement coloring his voice. Hotch lifted his arm enough to glare at the other man. Rossi's smile broadened. "You're not just breaking an occupational rule, you're crossing your own boundaries."

Hotch covered his eyes again. "That part… really doesn't bother me. I hadn't really thought about it before, what with Haley and monogamy…"

"I don't think you ever got a chance to explore much of your sexuality, Aaron," Rossi said gently. "Hell, you had yourself convinced even before adulthood that you were meant to be with her."

Hotch could argue with him, protest that there had been a number of times before his marriage that he and Haley had problems and questioned their relationship, but in the end he recognized a truth in his friend's statement.

"So, what's the problem."

"There are rules," Hotch started with the easiest argument. He sat up and met Rossi's gaze with a frown.

Rossi chuckled. "You don't honestly believe everyone adheres to the no fraternization rule. If the people involved are still effective, scrutinization is minimal."

"I remember a certain Agent Robins who happened to apply for a transfer right around the time you started flirting with Shelly Luetz from archives," Hotch replied dryly.

"Don't cloud the point, Aaron," Rossi said. "We're talking about you. Now, you don't think you have an issue with 'falling' for another man and we're ignoring your supposed reluctance to break rules. Is this guy already involved? Did you get interested in a straight man?" Hotch didn't get a chance to answer before a look of realization crossed Rossi's expression. "It's the wunderkind, isn't it? What was his name…?"

"Reid," Hotch muttered. He reached for another beer.

"Well? Is he gay? Or taken?"

Hotch started on his third beer before he answered. "Unsure, to both questions. I don't think he's been… adverse to men in the past." He stared down at his beer as he rolled the bottle between his hands. "But… Dave, he's had some pretty bad experiences." He grimaced.

Any remaining amusement fell away and Rossi leaned forward to touch Hotch's hand. "Tell me."

After a moment of hesitation, Hotch launched into the story of how Reid came onto the team and the likely issues still haunting the younger agent.

By the time Hotch finished relaying the undercover case, he and Rossi had finished the last of the beer. Hotch began peeling the label off the bottle as he waited in the silence that followed.

Eventually Rossi said, "Well, he didn't run away screaming." He cut off Hotch's attempt to interrupt. "Listen to me. He said, 'I can't,' right? That isn't an 'I won't' or 'I'd never.' You're upset that you moved in too fast. You didn't screw up, Aaron. The kid wasn't uncomfortable with your presence, I think I would have noticed that – God knows he was jumpy as hell with me."

"Please don't call him 'kid,'" Hotch said with a wince.

Rossi grinned at that. "You're _not_ robbing the cradle. Stop thinking you're as old as Jason or me. And somehow I doubt, genius or not, that Reid's as young as he looks."

"Twenty-five," Hotch answered automatically.

"See? Your only problem here is his past, but that will ease over time with support." Hotch leveled him with a pointed star and Rossi sighed. "Alright, there's possible competition."

Hotch dropped his head in his hands, rubbing at his forehead tiredly. "It won't work…" he muttered, although the words seemed strangely like he was trying to convince himself.

Rossi called him on it. "Stop trying to talk yourself out of it. I know it's hard, you're scared of getting hurt. But I know you, Aaron, and you've emotionally invested yourself and that's not going to disappear at your bidding. Running away from this will eat you alive with the 'what-ifs' and if you find out later you had the chance—Well, don't fuck it up before you even try."

"It's complicated," Hotch retorted. He glared at Rossi. "What would you know, anyway?"

Rossi's lips thinned for a moment. Then he sighed and waved off Hotch's attempts at apology. "Okay, three ex-wives. I've fucked up every long-term relationship I've ever attempted. But for the sake of honesty, I think I stopped trying after the first marriage. So yeah, I believe I have an idea about self-sabotaging relationships."

Hotch didn't reply. He was too tired to argue and at this point wasn't sure he should. He stood up, stuffing empty cartons and beer bottles into the takeout bag. Rossi joined the cleanup efforts in silence.

"I'm keeping the bed. You get the couch," Hotch said. "I'll get some sheets."

With Rossi settled in the living room, Hotch stripped down to his underwear and fell into bed. Running through the conversation with Rossi again reminded him of the short exchange with Prentiss. That made three people, he realized, who were (not very subtly) encouraging him to cross lines. Their encouragement didn't necessarily mean pursuing Reid would be a good idea, or even that the other man would be receptive.

_I have an idea about self-sabotaging relationships… Don't fuck it up before you even try,_ Rossi's voice reminded.

Hotch groaned into his pillow and rolled onto his back.

"Damn you if this comes back to bite me in the ass," he muttered wearily. Apparently accepting his friends' advice was all that was needed for his body to give into exhaustion and fall – for once – into a deep sleep.

--- --- ---

- Quote that comes up in Reid's scene is from Bob Hoffman

A/N: So this part turned out to be more of an interlude than anything else. I wish I had more to offer you at the moment, but there was already so much that was cut out and rewritten to get this. I hope it seems to wrap itself up okay. This is the last update to come until (at the earliest) December.

November finds me dedicated to slaving away at NaNoWriMo for my first time. I'm actually writing a Criminal Minds fic for the project, but lord only knows when I'll end up having that prepared for other eyes. (My inner editor needs to go on vacation far, far away for the month.)

Thank you to everyone who's been reading, and extra special thanks to all the commenters. Your words mean the world to me and have bolstered my love of the fandom. I'll see y'all in a month.

_(If you want to track my progress and related NaNo things, see my nano_scifiroots journal on Dreamwidth.)_


	6. On the Edge

On the Edge

By Clarity Scifiroots

Criminal Minds (Disclaimers apply! This is a fan's work.)

**Characters **Reid, Hotch, Rossi, Garcia, Morgan (team)

**Genre**: AU, (pre-)slash Hotch/Reid

**Rating**: Mature

**Warnings!** Sexual abuse comes into play - mention of Morgan's canon history, also revisiting this verse's Reid previous assaults

**Summary**: When Morgan's past comes knocking, the case's aftermath affects Reid and Hotch as well.

_Enormous thanks to the supportive efforts of olizashihar. Thank you for your awesome beta-ing and your encouragement. Your help is what got this story finally written. Thanks for all of your kind words and assuring me that everything was going to work out okay. :)_

* * *

_And I'd like to change all this / And I'd like to wake up from this / By your side_ - "If I'd Found the Right Words to Say" Snow Patrol/center

Reid stared blindly at the ceiling. Street light filtered through the window and between the partially drawn curtains. He was relieved that the dim light revealed his surroundings, assuring him that this was home, not any of the places he dreaded and faced in nightmares. His breathing steadied and he could feel the sweat cooling on his skin exposed above the tangled sheets. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply.

He untangled himself and slipped out of bed to take a shower and change into fresh clothes. The alarm clock next to his bed read 3:03, but he didn't want to try sleeping again after his recent nightmare. He switched on the bedroom and hallway lights on his way to the bathroom. He noted that the bathroom light had an unsteady glow and took a second too long to turn on, warning him that he needed to replace a bulb. _It can wait until later,_ he mused as he stepped out of his sleep pants and boxers. At home, with no one else to see, he had no qualms sleeping bare-chested.

With the shower as hot as his skin could stand, Reid stood beneath the flow and braced his hands on the wall. He hung his head, his long hair diverted the water around his face as he stared down at his bare toes. He tried to clear his mind of cases, his history, his nightmares. The mismatched skin on his forearm felt overly hot compared to the rest of his body and he winced, carefully adjusting his stance so that it was no longer under the direct spray.

As soon as he'd come home from the Miller case he rid his wardrobe of short sleeves. He had kept a few tees, ones with certain positive memories associated with them, but only wore them when he was in his apartment, out of sight with no one present to judge him.

He had always felt awkward about his body, although that was not unexpected given how he was by far the youngest in any class he took at the schools he attended. Locker rooms had been strange and he had always kept his head down and changed in a shower or toilet stall. It was even stranger to finally _want_ to be naked with his first girlfriend. That awkwardness made him all the more nervous later when he decided to get intimate with his first boyfriend.

It stopped being uncomfortable to show off his body once he had a boost in confidence, but he continued with standard necklines and he declined sleeveless shirts. On rare occasion a friend or lover convinced him to wear form-fitting apparel and took him out for a night of fun. Reid had to admit he'd felt confident and sexy on those occasions, and the positive feedback had made him even more willing to go out dressed up with the people he trusted.

Reid's fingers curled against the wet tiles and he looked down at himself. The bruises had long since faded, even most of the other marks had become invisible, but he could still feel the strange sharp-bluntness of human teeth sinking into his skin – claiming, marking. In the aftermath of his nightmare, every pain felt like a new ache. He knew what else marred his skin besides the permanent scars.

He stared grimly at the bold pinkish scar tissue along his left hip. Thomas Miller had left a crueler mark than any of the men from prison, and yet he had never sexually violated. At least, not in any typical sense of the term. The carved letters, the goddamn _name_ cut into Reid's flesh felt like an inescapable assault he would never overcome. Whenever Reid could work up the courage to satisfy his attraction and sexual arousal for a willing partner, he knew they would both have the ghost of violations past shoved in their faces.

Reid grimaced and closed his eyes. It might be okay if he were able to make up a story about the scars or push the issue aside, leaving his lover ignorant. But Reid knew who he wanted. He had been interested in the man from their first meeting, and that interest had grown and developed to an uncertain attraction. Recently, he had felt the stirrings of desire and arousal, and the other night Reid had even taken himself in hand and masturbated while imagining Hotch and reliving a good memory of sex. Of course, with Hotch all the history would be known, and Reid wasn't sure he could take the look in Hotch's eyes when he stared at Reid's naked body, knowing the scorn he would see.

If they ever got that far.

If Reid ever allowed them to.

If Hotch stayed interested.

"Fuck," Reid muttered. He straightened up and began fiercely scrubbing shampoo into his hair. He ignored the ache of his jaw from clenching it too tight and the way the sensitive grafted skin seemed to burn even as the water began to cool.

* * *

Hotch wondered how often he was going to make it a habit to meet up with Dave to knock back a few beers now that his friend had moved to Montclair. In the past two months he'd seen Rossi four times during the weekends he was in town. While it was nice to get away from both work and his previous endless days of solitude at home, Dave did not consider Hotch's colleagues a work topic to avoid; and his friend was annoyingly adept at sneaking Hotch's personal life into their conversations.

_Never should have told him anything,_ Hotch considered, not for the first time. Although he had to admit that he preferred Dave's persistence to Gideon's. Unlike Gideon, Dave actually acknowledged his personal failings in past relationships, yet he continued to show interest in one day finding a good relationship and making it work; as if helping Hotch in his own relationship would somehow help Rossi.

"Fill me in," Rossi said, his voice jolting Hotch into the present.

"What?"

Dave stared pointedly at the half-empty tumbler in Hotch's grip.

Resisting the urge to sigh, Hotch finished off his drink. He ran his finger along the glass's rim, debating the wisdom of ordering another right away.

"Well? What happened?" Dave prompted again, tone firm.

"Rough case all around," Hotch said. His fingers tightened around the glass. "Pedophile. Bastard worked at a youth community center."

Rossi tugged the tumbler out of Hotch's grip. "Another drink?" he asked rhetorically when Hotch glanced up.

A few minutes later, Dave returned. "Pedophilia cases are a _bitch_," he offered feelingly.

Hotch snorted quietly. There were no words to describe the cases that gave nightmares to even senior agents. Every agent had their individual triggers, but pedophilia tended to challenge even the most seasoned agent's attempts at emotional distance. Hotch was haunted by the realization that predators existed in the world that his son had to face, Rossi knew that. But there had been additional complications in the case.

After taking a fortifying drink, Hotch said, "One of my agents had a history with the man." He didn't continue, knowing that his terseness implied his meaning. He wouldn't give Morgan's name, though he knew Dave could make the connection.

"You've got the jackass nailed?" Rossi asked, expression grim.

Hotch gave a brusque nod and took another drink. He let his gaze wander the room, all the while feeling Rossi's stare. "Seems like the guy's tastes spanned a range of years, though," Hotch said tightly. "He—" _was eyeing up Reid in interrogation. I know he was playing it up to get a response, but there was no way all that interest was completely faked. _ It took a moment for Hotch to push aside the vivid memory of Carl Buford and his effect on Hotch's team.

"Hotch..." Dave didn't reach out a comforting hand, but his lowered voice indicated his concern.

Hotch met his friend's gaze briefly before staring down at his drink. "He triggered some memories for Reid, too," he explained. "_Pretty boy."_ The younger agent momentarily had the look of someone sucker-punched before he could gather a stoic mask. Gideon had made the call to pull Reid off interrogation duty.

"I don't suppose you have the time to get stinking drunk," Rossi commented dryly after the silence continued to drag.

"Not terribly appealing," Hotch replied. "Besides, I'd like to drive home."

Rossi snorted inelegantly. He drained his drink and knocked in noisily against the table. "Alright. A nightcap at your place." He rolled his eyes when Hotch looked at him askance. "You're going to obsess over this all weekend. At least let me convince you to get drunk enough to sleep soundly for at least one night."

Hotch had to admit he didn't care to argue.

* * *

"Good morning, sunshine!" Garcia greeted cheerily when she saw Reid . She sidled up next to him in the mostly empty elevator car. He cast her a sidelong glance but his lips were quirked up in a smile. "How're you doing, lovely?" she continued.

"Fine. You know, you're extra perky this morning." He raised his eyebrows in a silent prompt.

Garcia beamed and slipped her hand around his elbow. He stiffened for a moment before relaxing. Her delighted mood increased even further with that.

"If you must know, my luscious genius, I enjoyed the delights of a good sexing with a charming, handsome stud last night." The agent in the corner behind her choked on his coffee. She turned her head and fluttered her eyelashes charmingly at him. "Aw, you must be new," she cooed. She turned her flirtatious expression on Reid and inquired, "Aren't the newbies cute?"

Reid's eyes had widened and she could tell he was trying very hard not to look at the three other agents in the elevator. At the next floor Agent Newbie and one of the others stepped off. Reid relaxed a little and whispered, "I can't believe you."

"Why not?" Garcia bumped their hips together and grinned up at him. "I don't _get_ embarrassed, sweetie. Why shouldn't I be happy about getting the good sex? " She looked over at the other passenger, who was determinedly staring at the floor numbers but could not hide a little smirk. "_Everyone_ needs a good sexing," she confided in a loud stage whisper to him. The agent looked at her and chuckled.

Reid coughed uncomfortably. The elevator came to their stop and he tugged her out, muttering, "Come on, Garcia."

She winked at the agent and gave a little wave before following after Reid. She was happy he had not decided to push her off as they walked into the bullpen. She was going to cherish this close contact for a long as she could. Reid was very slowly making progress in letting everyone near, but so far it had mostly been JJ or brief, casual touches from Morgan and Hotch – the more hands-on members of the team.

"Wow, Reid, how did you make her day?" Prentiss asked with a grin as she caught sight of them. Morgan turned around in his chair to look.

Garcia brought up her free hand to clutch Reid's arm and pressed in close as she cried, "He's mine, people! Back off!"

She smothered a grin when she heard Reid's nervous mumbling. "Umm..."

Morgan rolled his eyes but surprisingly made no comment, instead turning back to his desk and hunching over his work. Prentiss picked up his slack, even though there was a lack of lightness in her tone. "Let Reid be, Penelope. I know for a fact you found a mister tall and dark this weekend."

Garcia pouted and reluctantly let Reid have his arm back. "Why do you have to spoil my fun?"

Reid quickly escaped to his desk and sat down with his bag held protectively in front of him. He, along with the women, looked over at Morgan, wondering if he'd finally speak up. Garcia felt her good mood plummet when Morgan did nothing more than purse his lips in annoyance.

Hiding a sigh, Garcia reminded herself that getting glum would only perpetuate the problem. Before heading down to her personal domain, she leaned over Reid's desk and whispered huskily, "Thanks for the good time, sweet cheeks."

She turned, grinning broadly at Reid's sputtered incoherence. Prentiss chuckled and Garcia was relieved to see Morgan's lips twitching toward a smile.

i_My work here is done,_/i she thought triumphantly.

That afternoon Reid timed his need for a coffee refill to coincide with Morgan's. With a brief look at Prentiss, who nodded at him encouragingly, Reid made his way to the kitchenette.

"Who the hell keeps forgetting to refresh the pot?" Morgan grumbled.

"I- uh. It's not me," Reid said, blinking in surprise.

Morgan rolled his eyes as he set about preparing a new pot. "I know, man. Probably some idiotic intern thinking they're too busy to spend an extra minute to keep the office caffeinated." A slight smirk crossed his lips, "Bad idea."

Reid licked his lips and shifted nervously. He'd tried to rehearse something to say but nothing had seemed natural or particularly helpful. He took a deep breath and plunged ahead blindly. "You know you can talk about it, right?" he blurted out, the words running together.

Morgan deciphered the rush of words and his expression blanked. His mouth tightened as he stared at Reid.

Not entirely discouraged, Reid stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. "You can.... Me. I-I mean, if you want, I'll be here to, um, listen."

"Right." Reid winced at Morgan's curt reply.

_This is not going well at all._ Reminding himself that Morgan had been helping Reid out with his own issues, Reid didn't back down. "Look, it's hard. It's... not comfortable to, to talk about it. I-I know. But sometimes... it's necessary. Mor—Derek, I just wanted to say I—"

"What?" Morgan snapped. He threw his arms wide and Reid noticed that his hands tremored. "What did you want to tell me? You _know_? Do you really think that does shit? It's too fucking late. He kept after god damn kids who couldn't lift a finger against him. I should have protected them!"

"You were one of those kids," Reid said quietly. "Carl Buford and people like him know how to—" he took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment "—to draw his victims in, make them believe they're completely powerless. Do you blame yourself? It's what the others feel, too, but it's not their fault. It's not your fault."

Morgan crossed his arms over his chest. "No, it's not my fucking fault. He preyed on kids who _couldn't fight back_." He met Reid's stare and there was barely restrained fury in his gaze. His voice was ugly when he bit out, "Did you even fucking try?"

Reid felt his heart thud heavily against his chest, counterpart to the sudden rush of blood to his head.

_" No one's coming, pretty boy. Go ahead and scream."_

_"S-stop. Please."_

_"How d'you want it?" Reid tried to recoil as a firm hand pushed him towards the man's crotch. "You gonna bite?" His face was pressed against a hard thigh and he could feel the erection next to his jaw, separated by two layers of cloth._

_"Please..." Reid's voice cracked and he closed his eyes tightly.  
_

_"Too fucking pathetic to try biting," another commented._

_The man holding him snorted derisively, "Doesn't matter, I think I like his ass better."_

Shit shit shit!_ Reid clawed at the hand holding him. He tried yelling, praying that _this_ time one of the goddamn guards would come by to _do something_._

_"Shut the fuck up!" A solid punch to his face rattled Reid enough that he faltered in his struggle. Two pairs of hands grabbed at him, yanking off the scant protection of clothing and pinning him against the chilly wall beneath barred windows._

_"C'mon, pretty boy. Beg. Beg for it."_

_Reid's fingers curled against the concrete and he squeezed his eyes shut. "No," he rasped, fear making his adrenaline spike._

_"You're a sweet piece of ass, kid, but not so bright."_

_He bit his lip to keep from screaming._

Reid couldn't speak as he stared at the angry expression on his friend's face. Was Morgan really suggesting–?

"E-excuse me?" Reid asked. He immediately wanted to withdraw the request for clarification. He knew he should have stopped when Morgan started getting worked up. _I'm not qualified for this. What am I doing?_ he thought, a rising sense of panic making him feel light-headed. _This was a mistake, what was I thinking trying to get him to talk?_

Morgan leaned forward and snapped, "You're skinny as hell, but you're no slacker. Did you even _try_ to fight it? _We_ were kids, we were smaller and confused and—"

"Don't." Reid's jaw clenched and he couldn't say anything else. He stared at Morgan and saw only the anger and pain and need to push it all to someone else. Reid couldn't handle this, it wasn't his to take and thank god he'd had enough therapy to know he didn't deserve the accusation. He stood frozen, eyes unblinking as he stared at Morgan. He wished he could see the wall of fury and need to lash out start to crumble— but he didn't. _He'll be sorry later and apologize._ It didn't matter right now; Reid wasn't sure it would even make a difference later.

"I—" _can't_ _deal with you right now_. Reid turned on his heel and walked away. His fisted hands shook as he strode through the bullpen and toward the restroom. He wanted to go home, find a decent bottle of wine, order take-out, and watch some sci-fi movie he could tear apart to distract himself. But it was two in the afternoon and he'd be damned if he took off running when he'd done nothing wrong.

* * *

Hotch heard a crash and someone shout. Pulse jumping, he had his hand on his gun before he opened the office door. Gideon stood at the rail but didn't glance at him as he moved to assess the situation below. A handful of support staff were clustered in one corner, whispering excitedly as they threw wide-eyed looks over their shoulders. Prentiss stood awkwardly, looking as if she wanted to go in two directions at once. Hotch frowned when he didn't see Reid or Morgan.

"There," Gideon murmured. He indicated the kitchenette where Morgan was partially visible through the doorway.

JJ appeared and glanced up but apparently didn't find anything helpful from their end. The blonde's voice was pitched low, but Hotch could still hear her when she walked over to Prentiss; "What's going on?" Prentiss shook her head silently, shoulders tense.

"What _is_ going on?" Hotch asked quietly, glancing sidelong at Gideon.

"I believe Morgan broke a couple glasses." Gideon paused and tilted his head thoughtfully. "Actually, it might have been the coffee pot."

Hotch finally withdrew his hand from the butt of his gun. "Right. That helps a lot." He cast Gideon an irritated glare before he went downstairs to find out what had happened. He considered going to Prentiss first, but he knew the real problem lay with Morgan, so he braced himself and went to the kitchenette.

Morgan had his arms crossed tightly across his chest as he glared at the pieces of broken ceramic scattered over the linoleum. Unsure how to start, Hotch asked, "Are you going to clean that up?" Morgan cast him a quick look before returning his glower to the floor.

Hotch positioned himself inside the doorway to make it clear that he wasn't moving until Morgan started talking. Hotch had a guess now as to what had inspired the dark mood, so he asked, "Did you make your appointment yet?"

Morgan grunted at that and moved to grab a ratty-looking broom from a dusty corner. Hotch ran his gaze over the floor and noted two distinctly handle-shaped ceramic pieces. He prodded, "I suppose you thought there was a good reason to throw around coffee mugs. Did you hit anyone?"

Morgan's glare determinedly stayed focused on the floor as he swept. After a while he grunted, "No. Kid was already gone."

"Hm." Hotch's jaw clenched as he had his suspicion confirmed. "I need you to make that appointment. Then I want you to go home and rest."

Morgan shrugged, expression tight. Hotch warned, "You won't be cleared for field duty until the psychologist approves. Get the appointment. Go home. I don't think either of you is ready for an apology." Morgan's shoulders hunched at that. "Morgan?"

"Yeah..." Morgan wiped a hand over his face. "I'll make the damn appointment."

"Good." Hotch took a step back. Before he left he said, "We're here, Derek."

The group of gawkers had spread out or disappeared by the time he made his way over to Prentiss' desk. She glanced up at him over JJ's shoulder.

"Where's Reid?" he asked.

"He'll be right back," she said. Hotch waited, gaze locked with hers until she sighed. "Bathroom, I think. Things ran hotter than expected." Hotch didn't reply as he went in search of Reid. He did _not_ look forward to damage control.

He wasn't all that surprised when he found the restroom door locked. "Reid," he said, voice firm as he rapped his knuckles against the wood.

A few moments later he heard the lock retract. He waited a couple seconds to open the door, not wanting to hit the younger man in a rush to see if he was alright. Reid had wandered over to the sinks by the time Hotch entered.

Reid crossed his arms as he turned to face Hotch. "Is he headed home?" Hotch inclined his head in agreement. Reid nodded, gaze trailing away from Hotch's face. "Okay, that's good."

"What happened?" Hotch asked as he made himself relax his posture. He didn't want this to be a stand off.

Reid sighed as he shifted to lean his hip against the sink. Hotch waited, sensing that unlike Morgan, Reid would eventually talk. It took a few minutes, but Reid finally said, "I tried talking to him, but he didn't want to listen. I kept pushing. I know I should have stopped earlier." He shrugged dismissively. "I can profile, I don't do comfort."

Hotch replied, "I wouldn't draw that conclusion yet. Morgan just needs a few days to come around."

Reid shook his head. "It's going to be longer," he said quietly. Hotch watched as a flicker of grief washed across the younger agent's face. "He's going to drive himself crazy trying to come up with an apology."

"You probably deserve one," Hotch returned.

Reid looked up, weariness lining his face. "He wasn't paying attention to what he said. I don't think he even _knows_ what he said. It doesn't really matter."

Hotch held his gaze. "Yes, it does." Reid gave a shaky shrug in response. "You still want the apology." _Whatever he said... I'm betting you deserve groveling, flowers, and chocolates._

"I already forgive him," Reid muttered, gaze darting away for a moment as he licked his lips. "It's just..." He sighed. His arms uncrossed and he ran a hand over his hair.

_Just what?_ Hotch wondered, attention focusing to look for additional details in his encounter with Morgan and current conversation with Reid. Was there something more underlying this outburst? _Maybe the flowers and chocolate approach isn't far off,_ he mused, something in his gut clenching at the thought.

Reid looked down at the floor and shifted his weight from foot to foot as he shrugged again. "I _do_ get it," he said quietly. "An-and he knows that. Why did—? Morgan had _no right_." Reid visibly tensed as his voice rose; a look of desperation and anger warred on the younger agent's face. His stare fixed Hotch in place. "I fought them. I scratched and clawed and kicked. I made him fucking bleed but it wouldn't _stop_."

Reid moved his hand and it looked like he was giving himself a one-armed hug. It took a few moments for Hotch to place the significance of the gesture, but memory provided him with an image of Reid during their second meeting: Bruised neck, black eye, split lip, and scarring in the pattern of a human bite-mark just beneath the collar of his loose shirt.

"I _tried_," Reid whispered as his fingers clenched in the fabric covering scars. "It wasn't my fault, I didn't do anything wrong." He suddenly shivered and the look of desperation became more distinct. "God, I _know_ this and it doesn't matter. Morgan's right, it doesn't do shit to have someone tell you they know how it is. It doesn't make it any easier to accept or easier to understand."

Hotch refused to keep his distance any longer; within two strides he reached Reid's side. The younger agent stared at him and up close Hotch could see Reid's emotional turmoil clearer. _Can I touch him? Is that even appropriate right now?_

"It's..." Reid inhaled deeply before continuing, "it's the sort of thing you can learn to live with. I can read all the material I find, listen to therapists over and over again, and I can even tell myself that it _wasn't my fault_, but that doesn't—" He squeezed his eyes shut and hissed out a frustrated sigh. "It never goes away, Hotch," Reid said, the weary, broken tone prompting Hotch into action.

"Reid," Hotch murmured a scant second before his hands lifted to curve around the younger agent's shoulders. "Jesus, Reid, I'm sorry. I knew something was wrong the moment I met you, I shouldn't have left you there. I should have come back for you."

Reid's eyebrows climbed upwards and his lips parted in an expression of surprise. "That wasn't your responsibility. I don't really care that you didn't come back to tell me the case was cleared – you were here. When I came praying to find a way to build some semblance of life, you were here and you just... let me in." Reid's gaze darted away only to return focus on Hotch moments later.

"I still regret leaving you there," Hotch said quietly. His hand stroked inward until his fingers brushed over Reid's. The younger agent shuddered, but a cursory glance convinced Hotch the reaction wasn't negative. He swallowed nervously and met Reid's gaze as he moved his hand to fully cover Reid's. The fingers beneath his own twitched and slowly parted so that Hotch's slipped in between. After a few moments, Reid hooked their fingers more firmly together and guided their hands to his cheek.

The name passed Hotch's lips as little more than an exhale of air; "Spencer."

Reid's eyes closed and, as if the sound had been a benediction, he turned his head and pressed his lips against Hotch's hand. "I'm so tired of being scared, but I can't fully avoid it." He spoke the words against Hotch's skin, whisper-soft although the implied meaning rang loud and clear in Hotch's mind.

"I still feel..." Reid's eyes opened as he tilted his face to meet Hotch's gaze straight-on. The anger had completely faded from Reid's expression, although desperation was still there, now joined with an undeniable combination of desire and mild frustration; it left Hotch breathless. " I need to move on. I want..." Reid's brows furrowed as his gaze roamed Hotch's face.

Hotch stroked his thumb against Reid's hand, still caught within his grasp. "What?"

Expression helpless, Reid slowly shook his head and murmured, "You." Hotch closed his eyes and shuddered as he felt Reid's breath brush his skin; they were standing so close.

"Why?" Hotch knew he had been making mistakes from the beginning. He clearly remembered the many instances where he'd failed to catch Reid's cues and thus missed opportunities to talk. When Reid approached him after the undercover case he'd reacted poorly and made an inappropriate pass. For months, Hotch had felt certain that Reid and Morgan were working on a relationship. Now everything was being called into question.

Reid huffed a quiet laugh as he pressed his cheek firmly against Hotch's hand. "I know you're worth the effort."

* * *

_"Come to the edge," He said. _

_They said, "We are afraid." _

_"Come to the edge," He said. _

_They came. He pushed them... and they flew._

- Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918, Italian-born French Poet, Critic)


End file.
